The Real Nikki Heat
by Demian33
Summary: The model on the cover of the Nikki Heat books shows up dead on the steps in front of the DA's office with a warning that the "real" Nikki Heat will be next. Story is set in Season Three. COMPLETE.
1. Chapter 1

It was an early Sunday morning in January when the lifeless body of a young woman slowly descended from the gray-blue sky. Attached to an orange and yellow parachute, she gently landed on the concrete steps in front of the New York District Attorney's office, softly, like a tissue might land on the floor.

Some early risers, a jogger, and a sanitation crew watched the puzzling display in silence, not knowing what to make of the strange sight before them. Cautiously, they approached the body, now covered entirely by the thin fabric. They looked at each other, still not knowing what to do, when the jogger finally pulled out his cell phone and dialed 911. Together, they waited for the blue and whites to arrive at the scene.

* * *

"Do you really need six suitcases for a seven-day trip?" Castle teased his mother as she pulled on her leather gloves and matching coat.

"Oh, darling, you know I am never one to travel lightly," Martha sighed dramatically. "One never knows what she might need."

Castle picked up one of the suitcases and dropped it back down immediately. "I am pretty sure you aren't going to need the ton of bricks you packed inside this one."

Fluffing her cashmere scarf around her neck, Martha laughed. "You can never have enough shoes!"

He unzipped the bag and peered inside. "Fur-lined mountain boots? Mother, you're going to Palm Springs, not charting a course to the South Pole," he replied, zipping the bag back up.

"You never know, Richard. Remember that time when I met that marvelous man in Fiji who offered to whisk me away to Aspen for a long weekend? So charming he was … if only my traveling companion at the time had been more open-minded …"

"Klaus took you to Figi to ask you to marry him, Mother. I am sure jetting off to Aspen with Prince Akootobo was not his idea of a romantic getaway."

"Details, details, Richard," she replied lightly. "Klaus should have known better than to propose to me. Did you remember that ring? Only four karats. As if Martha Rodgers would wear a ball and chain for four karats."

Castle had to laugh—at least his mother was consistent.

"Dad, have you seen my sunglasses?" Alexis asked as she descended the stairs.

"No honey, sorry," he replied.

Alexis landed at the bottom of the stairs with one roller suitcase and a small carry-on, her face a mix of confusion and concentration.

"See, Mother?" Richard jested. "Alexis isn't taking half her wardrobe with her."

"Oh, she's still young. She doesn't need as many accoutrements to compliment her beauty. Just wait …"

"Actually, Dad, I have one more bag upstairs. Can you grab it?" she smiled, sheepishly.

"As you wish," he bowed, before ascending the stairs.

"I'm so excited about Palm Springs, Grandma. Do you think we'll see any movie stars there?"

"Found your sunglasses, sweetie!" Castle called from upstairs.

"Thanks, Dad!" she yelled back.

"Of course we will, darling. Movie stars need vacations, too." Martha said, reapplying her lipstick. "And wait until you see our hotel … the spa, the pool, the cocktails …"

"I'm only seventeen, Grandma," Alexis reminded her.

"Too young to drink them, but old enough to order them for me," Martha hinted, capping her lipstick.

"Okay, here we go," Castle said, when he reached the landing, suitcase in hand. "One pair of sunglasses, as requested," he said, holding them out to her.

"Thanks, Dad," she replied, taking them from him.

Just then the buzzer rang.

"Your car awaits, ladies," Castle said in his best butler impression.

"Are you going to be okay, Dad? A week is a long time," Alexis said, only half joking.

"I'll be fine, sweetie. You two have a wonderful time in Palm Springs. Don't worry about lonely old Dad, wasting away, dying from loneliness," he replied theatrically.

"We won't, darling. We'll simply be having too much fun!" Martha told him.

"I'll miss you, Dad," Alexis whispered into his ear, hugging him tightly.

"And I'll miss you. Please watch out for Grandma. There needs to be at least one adult chaperone on this trip."

"You can count on me," she smiled, giving him a knowing look.

The driver arrived to retrieve their bags and Castle watched them as they made their way down the hallway. Alexis turned around one last time and gave a little wave, which made his heart jump. Even for a short trip, he hated to be away from her. He smiled and waved back, blowing a kiss at her for good measure before the elevator door closed.

He walked back into the apartment and a moment of panic seized him—what was he going to do now? Then his phone rang, and he answered it instantly.

"Castle …" she said on the other line.

"It's Sunday, Beckett. Are you thinking brunch? I make a mean mimosa …" he told her, knowing she would never accept the invitation, but not able to resist asking her.

"Champagne makes me lose all of my inhibitions," she teased him.

"I'll remember that," he smiled, loving it when she played along.

"But first, get yourself over to the DA's office. We got a body."

"I didn't know the DA's office was open on Sundays," he said, puzzled.

"It's not. Just get over here and you'll see … gotta go …" she finished quickly, hanging up.

Castle grabbed his jacket and scarf, took a quick look in the mirror, ran a hand through his hair, and then left the apartment.

* * *

When Castle arrived at the scene, he ducked under the police tape and walked up the steps to where Beckett and the boys were standing around what looked to be a deflated parachute.

"Base jump gone wrong?" he asked as soon as he reached them.

"I wish it were that simple," Beckett said, kneeling down in front of the body. "What do you think, Lanie?"

"Definitely didn't die from the fall. Witnesses said the body came down real slow like, just kind of floated down, no hard impact or anything."

Working very methodically, Lanie and Beckett slowly pulled back all of the fabric until the body was completely exposed.

"See that bruising on her face? You don't get that from a parachute jump. Only fists do that," Lanie explained.

"Was she beaten to death?" Castle asked, chilled at the thought.

"Don't think so," Lanie answered, unbuttoning the girl's coat and slightly pushing her shirt open. "I'd say it's more likely those marks on her neck."

They all kneeled down to get a closer look.

"What are those circles on her throat?" Castle said.

"My guess is she was strangled, from the front. I think those are bruises from thumbs and her windpipe looks like it was crushed."

"What is that on her shoulder?" Esposito asked, taking out his notebook. "Some kind of tattoo?"

Lanie moved the fabric again, revealing a small, black tattoo of a swan at the base of her neck.

Castle gasped audibly and everyone looked at him, questioningly.

"I know her," Castle whispered.

"How? Who is she?" Beckett quizzed him.

"She's Nikki Heat," Castle replied, feeling sick to his stomach.

"Not a good time for jokes, dude," Esposito told him.

Castle looked at Esposito, with worry, not amusement, on his face. "I'm not joking. Her name is Gretta Swan. She is … was … the model for the Nikki Heat book covers. I met her at the shoot," he finished quietly.

"There's something in her mouth," Ryan said suddenly, interrupting the unsettling revelation.

Lanie grabbed her tweezers, carefully opened the girl's mouth, and removed a small piece of paper. She slowly opened it and read it, before shutting her hand around it quickly.

"What is it?" Beckett demanded. "A note from the killer?"

Lanie nodded, looking rather green, which was highly unusual. Nothing ever affected Lanie at work. Castle glanced nervously at Ryan and Esposito.

Sensing the tension, Beckett broke it. "Give it to me, Lanie," she demanded.

Swallowing hard, Lanie gave her the piece of paper. Beckett opened it and quickly read the contents. Once finished, she immediately stood up, prompting everyone around to follow her lead.

"What is it?" Ryan asked, breaking the silence.

"What does it say?" Castle asked Beckett, the concern unmasked in his voice. Beckett looked at him, wide-eyed, for a split second. Fear, he thought, but she recovered quickly and the wall came back up. She showed them the note.

_This is just the dress rehearsal. Next time, it will be the real Nikki Heat._

"The real Nikki Heat …" Castle thought aloud. He looked at the boys and Lanie, who all had the same expression on their faces—shock, concern, dread. They all looked back at him. "But Nikki Heat isn't real … the only real Nikki Heat would be …"

Everyone's eyes moved to Beckett, who stood beside them stiffly, hands on hips, staring down at the body.

"Me …" she finished. Castle looked at her, but she wouldn't meet his eyes. He started to say something, but she cut him off.

"Let's get the body to autopsy and the scene processed. The killer's prints could be anywhere on that parachute, so let's be methodical here," she said calmly, stepping back and waving the processing unit over.

"Beckett, wait, are you okay…" Lanie began, touching her friend's shoulder.

"I'm fine," she replied briskly, starting to descend the steps. "Let's get back to the station …"

Castle took one last look at Lanie and the boys, imploringly, not able to find any words.

"We understand, bro," Esposito told him. "We'll get this guy."

Castle nodded quickly and then tried to catch up with Beckett.


	2. Chapter 2

The ride back to the station was short, considering it was Sunday and still pretty early. Beckett drove in silence, face forward, not revealing any of her thoughts or feelings.

"Are you going to say anything?" Castle asked after an eternity of silence.

"Just another murder investigation," she replied, as they pulled up to a light.

"It's not just another murder investigation, Beckett. There was a threat. Whoever did this is coming for you now. We need to think about getting you some protection …"

"We need to focus on the evidence and figure out why Miss Swan was killed," she said, steadily.

"She was killed because she was Nikki Heat. The only other possible Nikki Heat is you. How can you not understand it?" he said, exasperated.

"I understand it just fine, Castle. But what am I supposed to do? Go hide under a rock until this guy is found?"

"That would be a start …" he answered seriously.

"That's what these psychos want. They want to scare us, to disrupt our lives, to make us hide like cowards …"

"What 'us'?" Castle interrupted. "He threatened you, only you."

"He's just some deranged fan trying to get a name for himself. We see these kinds of cases all of the time, Castle. We can't run and hide. We just do what we always do—examine the evidence and figure out who this guy is."

"Your life is in danger, Kate. He wants to kill you," he whispered ardently, feeling tears come to his eyes. He quickly looked out the window, trying to get a hold of himself. His emotional response would only drive her away.

"Let's not get ahead of ourselves, Castle," she said, pulling into a spot across the street from the precinct. "Maybe we'll get lucky and get some prints and have this wrapped up by brunch."

Castle tried to smile, but failed miserably. They got out of the car and went inside the station.

"No prints?" Beckett asked Ryan, who was sitting on the corner of her desk. They had been able to rush processing considering the public nature of the case and it being a Sunday morning.

"None."

"None?" she asked in disbelief. "That must have been 50-square feet of fabric, plus the straps, and the note, and …"

"None on the body either. And no hairs, no skin underneath her finger nails, nothing," Esposito followed up.

"What about witnesses? How can a parachute with a body drop from the middle of the sky in Manhattan without anyone seeing it?" Beckett asked, incredulous.

"It was early. No one was out. The witnesses didn't notice it until she was almost on the ground," Ryan answered.

"How is this even possible? Was she tossed out of an airplane? Pushed off a skyscraper? Thrown out of a window? Don't parachutes need a while to open fully?"

"I would think so, but we haven't got a clue yet. We actually have a base jumper-slash-parachuter coming in. He should be here in twenty," Esposito told her.

"Is Lanie done with the autopsy?" she asked.

"Just about. She's 99 percent sure she was strangled. Miss Swan's windpipe was crushed and broken blood vessels in her eyes are consistent with strangulation," Ryan replied.

"Then why the parachute? Why not just toss her in a dumpster? Why the grand entrance?"

"Maybe it's just that. He wanted to make a big deal of it. He mentioned that this was a dress rehearsal. Maybe he is trying to set the stage," Castle offered.

"We don't even know where she was killed," Beckett sighed, running her hand through her hair. "Any ideas?" she asked, looking up at the guys.

Their blank stare was her answer.

"Maybe we'll know more once the autopsy is complete," she said, firmly. "In the meantime, let's figure out who manufactured this parachute. I doubt many New Yorkers are buying parachutes, so maybe we'll get lucky. Also, let's analyze the paper and ink from the note. Canvass the area again, this time widening the radius—maybe there are other witnesses we missed."

"Got it, boss," Ryan replied. He and Esposito quickly walked back to their desks.

Kate watched them walk away and then reluctantly looked at Castle, who was silent in the chair beside her desk. He was fiddling with a rubber band.

"What?" she snapped at him.

"Nothing," he told her, wincing at her tone, though not surprised by it. He had seen Kate like this before. He knew better than to say anything to her right now.

"I know you, Castle. You always have something to say. So, what it is?" she said, her tone still antagonistic.

"You wouldn't listen to me anyway," he replied honestly.

"What do you expect me to do? Go to some safe house and wait for this guy to get caught?"

"I didn't say that," he answered noncommittally.

"So, what then?"

"I just wish you would think about your safety. This isn't some random killer. He wants to kill _you_."

"Not me, Castle. He wants to kill Nikki Heat. You're the one who made us the same person."

He looked up at her, wounded, and she immediately looked away.

"You think this is my fault?" he asked, sincerely surprised. Beckett was not usually one to place blame.

"That book didn't write itself. I never went looking for you to write a book about me. I never asked for any of this," she said, pointedly.

"Well, I know, but … I thought … I didn't think …" he stumbled.

"Like it or not, this is one of your deranged fans, Castle," she said, bluntly.

"I'm not the enemy here, Beckett," he told her quietly.

"No, you just invited him out to play," she said, sounding suddenly tired. She stood up and began to walk away. The boys looked up at them then.

"Wait," he jumped up. "Where are you going?"

"To talk to Lanie. Maybe she's found something."

"Okay," he said, standing up. "Let's go."

"Go home, Castle," she said curtly. "I'm not in the mood to babysit today."

Shocked, Castle watched her walk away. He glanced over at the guys, who gave him sympathetic looks before returning to their work. Usually, he would have followed her, chased her down, joked around until they were good again. But he knew to back off now. He didn't know why he was the enemy, but there was no way he was going to make it worse.


	3. Chapter 3

Later, after learning nothing new from Lanie, Kate headed home. As soon as she walked in the door, she kicked off her shoes and dropped her coat, gun, and bag on the ground. She also wanted to grab the lamp off the table in front of her and throw it across the room, but she resisted.

The light was blinking on her answering machine, so she pressed the button. Josh's voice was breaking up and distant. She could hear a baby crying in the background. He sent his love and told her he missed her, promising to call her back as soon as he could.

Kate immediately erased the message, relieved that Josh was in Cambodia, relieved that she didn't have to explain what had happened today. She knew that most women would probably call their boyfriend the minute something like this happened—but she was not most women. And the fact that she wanted him away more than she wanted him close to her—well, that was something to figure out on a different day.

She opened the fridge to grab a beer and seeing none, she shut the door in frustration. After considering it for half a second, she instead grabbed a bottle of whisky from the cupboard and poured two fingers into a coffee mug. Grabbing the bottle, she slid down until she hit the kitchen floor. Stretching her legs out on the linoleum, she took a sip and finally let herself think about Castle.

She wasn't proud of her behavior back at the precinct. She didn't even really blame him for this—any of it. She hated hurting him, but she hadn't been able to stop herself. She was angry and it was just too easy to take it out on him.

The anger was from the sheer ridiculousness of this situation. One thing she had said to him was true. She had never wanted this, any of it—the book, the attention, the exposure. She was a cop and an incredibly private person. Sometimes she wondered why she had ever let him take this "ride along" thing so far. Sure, the pressure from the Captain and the Mayor had been nearly impossible to resist, but surely, at some point, she could have stopped things, before she had been made into some sex kitten super cop parading across the pages of Castle's over-active mind.

She glanced over at her bookshelf, at the entire row devoted to Castle, _Heat Rises_ bookending the collection. Sometimes—most of the time—she enjoyed the blur of fantasy and reality that the books brought into her relationship with Castle. She enjoyed the thought of him writing about Rook and Heat in the throes of passion, wondering if he pictured her—the real her—when we wrote those lines. She didn't understand the writing process, how a writer envisioned his characters and their actions. Did he have some fantasy version of Nikki Heat in his head when he wrote or was he thinking of her body, her face, when he wrote?

The truth is, the lines had been blurred for a while. When she had read _Heat Rises_, she couldn't help but think of Castle. And when she was with Castle, she was bombarded by thoughts of Jameson Rook pushing Nikki against the wall, his hands on her breasts, his lips on her neck, his body pressed against hers.

If she was having trouble keeping the two separate and distinct, no wonder some delusional fan was blurring the lines, too.

Maybe she should have cut this off a long time ago, even risking the displeasure of the Captain, the Mayor, and the so-called "good publicity" the New York Police received because of Castle's celebrity.

She finished off the whisky and poured herself two more fingers, setting the bottle back down beside her.

Sometimes, it was nice to live in the hazy in-between with him—to flirt and have fun together, to see the power she had over him, the way he would stare at her, his mouth so close to revealing his thoughts.

The in-between was fun … and safe. Though she somewhat doubted the veracity of his infamous playboy reputation, she still wasn't sure she wouldn't become another conquest of his. That, when he got what we wanted, he would just sneak out the door and move on to some other muse. She figured if she never really analyzed her feelings, never really figured out how she felt about him, that he would never really gain access to her. She figured the fantasy version of herself was way more alluring—and enduring—than the real woman she was underneath it all.

She wanted to imagine him capable of deep, true love, capable of commitment, able to resist the next Nikki Heat that might turn his head at some industry party. She didn't know what exactly she wanted, but she was damn sure she would never be another notch on his bedpost, the wined, dined, and dumped flavor of the month in Rick Castle's wonderland.

She was a serious person, a guarded and cautious person. Even in her youth, when she should have been wild and crazy, she was careful. Truth be told, no one had ever been as close to her as Castle was—not her boyfriends, her girlfriends, not even her father. Castle already knew her better than anyone she had ever known.

Did he even know that? Did he even realize that the reason she pushed him away was because he was already too close?

Sometimes he seemed capable of deep emotion—he could be so kind and incredibly sweet to her. Other times, he acted like a teenager with a hard-on and a crush on the teacher. How could the same man who signed women's breasts with a mischievous twinkle in his eye also be such a wonderful father to Alexis, a patient and loving son to Martha, and such an important part of Kate's life? Could this often-silly man ever really be capable of the kind of connection Kate would need from him?

She sighed. This is why she didn't analyze her true feelings for him. She liked the way things were, again, the haziness of their relationship. The innuendo with no follow-through. Part of her knew that if she could ever truly open herself to him, he would have the power to hurt her deeply—and she couldn't risk it. She had already been opened up once before in her life and she would never go there again. It was just safer this way.

Feeling a little tipsy and needing to shut down these thoughts, she got to her feet and headed to her bedroom, thinking a bath would be just the thing to take her mind off of all this stuff with Castle. Maybe once she calmed down, she would call him later … or maybe just show up to work tomorrow and act like it never happened. He was usually fine with that, too. When you are running from feelings, it's so easy to stop, hide, and let them pass you by.

When Kate walked into her bedroom and started to unbutton her shirt, she looked at her bedside table, confused. On it sat a copy of _Heat Rises_—but she only had one copy, right? Didn't she just see it in the other room? Her heart seized for a moment—her cop instincts flaring up. But she brushed it off; maybe Castle had given her another copy at some point.

She laughed quietly to herself and was about to take off her shirt when she heard a noise behind her. In an instant, she reached for her gun and spun around to face the disturbance. But she didn't even have her gun—she had left it by the door when she came home, and he was way too fast. The man grabbed her arm and covered her mouth with a meaty hand before she had even had time to process exactly what was going on.

He twisted her arm up behind her, pushing it to the point of breaking, the pain rushing through her so swiftly, the breath was stolen from her lungs. He was incredibly strong, probably the strongest person she had ever faced in direct combat. She tried to stomp his foot and throw her head back to break his nose, but his hold on her tightened even more, making her cry out and then whimper in agony.

He threw her down and kicked her a few times in the midsection before she even registered she was on the ground. Then, he roughly yanked her up by her upper arms and pressed her down on the bed. She was shaking her head, trying to get the hair out of her eyes, when he struck her. Blood filled her mouth, and for the first time, in a very long time, Kate was terrified. All of her training, her sparring, her violent encounters with suspects and thugs, she had always felt in control and sure of coming out on top.

But when he backhanded her across the face again, the blow sending stars through her head and almost knocking her unconscious, she began to regret her decision to take this case lightly. In an instant, she knew this man could kill her, could do whatever he wanted to her. She could barely put up a fight.

Suddenly, his huge hands were around her neck and her airway was cut off. She looked up at him then, but could find no distinguishing features underneath the ski mask and the black hoodie he was wearing. Her arms now free, she weakly tried to pull his hands from around her neck while her eyes frantically searched for anything that work as a weapon, but she was failing.

Her eyes were starting to close, her brain starting to shut down. He chose to toy with her then, releasing his hold so she could catch her breath for a moment, just so he could strangle her again. And then he began to laugh at her, which was what finally broke her. She started crying, she could feel the hot tears running in streams from the corners of her eyes.

"Sorry, sweetie," he said, his voice roughly jerking her back into the reality. "If it were up to me, I would never kill you—you're way too hot."

She wanted to throw up when she saw his eyes sweep over her body.

"But orders are orders … she wants him, so you have to go …"

_She?_ _Him?_ Just as the words registered in her mind, his hands tightened again, for what she knew would be the last time. As her fingers gripped the sheets, she thought about Castle finding her here, how upset he would be, how he would blame himself. It was too much—so many things she could have done differently.

She was sure she had imagined the loud knock on the door until she felt the cool and sudden absence of his hands when he stood up above her. Choking, she tried to call out, but all she could do was cough.

"Hey Beckett, it's Esposito, open up! Cap wanted us to check in on you!"

At the edge of the bed, towering over her, the man put his massive boot on her stomach, like he was stepping on a insect. God, he was huge—even on her best day, she would never be able to overpower him. She tried to kick at him with her legs, but he pushed down harder, until she couldn't breathe again. She watched as he looked around, debating his options, half afraid he would just pull out a gun and finish her off. She opened her mouth to call for the boys, but she couldn't make even the slightest sound.

"Come on, Beckett," Ryan piped up. "Don't freak us out like this. We know you're in there!"

Finally, the man made his decision. In a flash, he was was out the window and heading down the fire escape. He didn't even have to say it—she knew he'd be back.

Beckett tried to go after him, at least see where he went, but she couldn't do anything except gasp for breath. She felt like a half crushed bug, grasping for anything to hold onto that would righten her.

Finally, the door was kicked in, and she heard the boys enter the apartment, searching for her. When they came into the bedroom, she closed her eyes in relief.

"What the hell?" Esposito asked, scanning the room. "Where did he go?"

Beckett weakly pointed toward the open window. He ran over to it, looked down, and radioed the situation to dispatch. He asked Beckett for a description, but she only shook her head. There was nothing she could tell him—some cop she was.

Ryan helped her to sit up on the edge of the bed and began to gauge her injuries, talking to her in a calm, soothing voice. She tried to explain what happened, but she still couldn't talk. He rubbed her back and looked over at Esposito.

"Call an ambulance," he told Javier, who nodded, and immediately got on the horn.

"Can I get you anything?" Ryan asked her. Beckett saw the alarm in his face, which just confirmed what she hated to admit—she had been beaten, literally and physically, and badly.

"Water …" she croaked.

"Got it," Esposito interjected, walking toward the kitchen. He came back with the glass and handed it to Ryan before heading over to the window to look for evidence.

Ryan had to help her hold the water, her hand was shaking so badly.

"God, Beckett, I'm so sorry," Ryan told her sadly.

"Just … glad … you're here," she managed, handing him back the glass. Ryan set it on her nightstand and faced her again.

"Lay back down," he told her, helping her move up the bed. "The EMTs should be here any minute. Can I get you anything else?"

She shook her head, swallowing.

"You sure? I could call …" he trailed off, leaving the unspoken hanging between them.

She hesitated for a moment, fighting the urge to ask for what she really wanted. But she shook her head again, determined.

"Jesus, Kate! Why do you have to be so …" Javier cried out in frustration, shocking all of them.

"Hey, man!" Ryan interrupted in warning. Javier huffed and turned away.

Ryan turned back to Beckett. "Please, Kate … he'd want to be here."

The way Ryan was looking at her, it hurt worse than the physical pain. He was a man truly capable of love and he didn't understand why she wouldn't want Castle here. Any normal person would.

He glanced down for a moment. He wasn't trying to, if anything, he was trying to hide it, but the way he had looked at her—he felt sorry for her. It made her feel like shit.

In an instant, she saw how damaged she had become, how far she had fallen.

How had she become so twisted up? If she had only been protecting herself all of these years, trying to protect the soft, loving person she saw herself to be, how had she become the opposite, this cold, unfeeling creature who actually reveled in her aloofness?

What was wrong with her?

Beckett tried to catch her breath to speak, but failed again. Gritting her teeth against the tears in her eyes, she reached out and touched Ryan's arm. She couldn't help it; she wanted him here so badly.

"Castle …" she whispered, looking away quickly.

Ryan looked over at Esposito, who was still furious and upset. "Call him."

Javier dialed the number and walked out of the room.


	4. Chapter 4

When Castle got to her apartment, he had to push through fire fighters, crime tape, evidence collection, and uniformed officers before he even reached the living room. The first thing he noticed was that her bedroom was closed off, though many people hovered around it. His heart nearly exploded—was she in there? Was she …?

When she saw him walk in, saw his eyes find her bedroom, saw the fear, the shock, and the absolute devastation in every feature on his face—that's when she knew that he loved her. It was the same face she would make if she had thought something terrible, something irreversible, had happened to him.

She willed him to look at her. She hated for him to think—even for a moment—that he had lost her.

Castle scanned the rest of the room quickly and finally found her, sitting on the couch, surrounded by medics. He froze for a minute, stunned by her bruised face and the utter exhaustion that hung on her shoulders. His breath caught in his chest at the sight of her.

He sprinted across the room until he was kneeling in front of her, his body half over the coffee table that separated them, completely ignoring requests for him to stay back so the EMTs could continue giving her medical care.

"Kate …" the word left his lips in a whisper. Her face, her beautiful face. Her lip was cut and bleeding and there was a gash above her eyebrow that topped an enormous purple bruise rising from her scalp like a mountain.

He cringed and shuddered when his eyes found the marks on her neck. He had to look away for a minute, it was so bad. They were dark red and swollen, an absolute violation. The thought of Beckett being that overwhelmed, that helpless—she must have been so scared.

Castle worked desperately to control the anger inside of him. He would crush the person who did this to her if he were standing in front of him right now. He knew he would. He would wrap his hands around the guy's throat and squeeze that bastard's neck until he ripped his head off.

"Castle," she whispered.

Her voice snapped him out of the red fog immediately. And the look she gave him then … how could he describe it … his anger left him as quickly as it had come. If anyone needed to lose it now, it was her, not him.

"You're okay?" he asked her.

Kate watched his fists clench and unclench on the coffee table. She reached out and laid her hand over one of his.

"I'm okay," she assured, needing him to believe it. If he couldn't, she wasn't sure she would be able to.

"You're okay. You are, Kate. You're okay …" he repeated like a mantra, nodding in agreement. He was trying so hard not to cry.

"I promise," she told him, meaning it, only thinking of the moment when all this ugly stuff would be over, when all of these people would be gone, and she could walk into his arms and finally be sure of how he felt about her. Maybe even how she felt about him. She couldn't wait for that moment.

"Castle! Over here!" the Captain shouted at him from the kitchen.

Castle broke eye contact and glanced over at Montgomery.

"Now, Castle!" the voice boomed again.

"Go," she whispered.

The only reason he left was because she asked him to. Sighing, he left her to the medics and joined the guys in the kitchen.

"What happened?" Castle exploded, instantly angry again.

"Some guy jumped her in the apartment. She didn't have her gun on her. He roughed her up a bit …" Ryan started to explain.

"A bit?" he nearly yelled.

"Calm down, bro," Esposito told him, laying a hand on his shoulder. In his anger, he pushed Javier's hand off of him. Javier backed off immediately, knowing just how Castle felt.

"He tried to strangle her," Esposito explained. "We stopped over after Captain asked us to check in on her. She didn't answer, so we kicked down the door. We scared him off and he ducked out the fire escape. We have units looking for him, but nothing so far."

"Who was it?" Castle asked.

"No idea. Beckett never got a good look at him—black ski mask, black hoodie, black pants. She didn't see anything that could help identify this _cabrón_," Esposito said, obviously frustrated. It comforted Castle knowing that Esposito was as just angry as he was.

But then the mood changed dramatically—instantly. Suddenly, the men looked uncomfortable.

"What?" Castle asked, alarmed.

"He said something to her, Castle. Something that's … I don't know," Montgomery tried, dropping off.

"Jesus! What is it? Just tell me!" Castle implored.

"He told her that …" Ryan attempted, but dropped his eyes and didn't finish.

"Come on, guys," Castle pleaded.

"He was choking her, man, you know, _killing_ her," Esposito spit out. "And he told her that he would never kill her if it was up to him. He told her that orders were orders."

Castle's hand went to his mouth. "What does that mean?" he asked, confused.

"That he was ordered to kill her, because the killer, she wants …" Javier paused, obviously anxious.

"She?" Castle asked, really not comprehending now.

"She wants you, Castle," the Captain said calmly. "She sent that monster to kill Beckett because she wants you."

Castle looked at them in disbelief and then stumbled backward, backing into the kitchen counter. Ryan caught his arm and helped steady him. This time, Castle accepted the help.

"It's my fault," he decided. "It's my fault. She was right."

"Don't be ridiculous, Castle. It's not your fault. And pull yourself together—she's going to need you after this," the Captain stated plainly, before walking off to talk to a uniform.

"Castle, uh, we need to …" Ryan started, glancing toward the rest of the apartment.

"Go," he told them. "I'm okay. I'll wait."

When Ryan and Esposito returned to their responsibilities, he walked back into her living room and sat on the window ledge. He watched them examine her completely, close up her wounds, shine lights into her eyes. He watched her, anger eating him raw, until everybody in the apartment left.

After, they all gathered around her. Castle sat beside her on the couch and her body immediately relaxed into his. He put his arm around her and she moved even closer. Under any other circumstance, he would have been thrilled with the contact, but not now, not like this. It just reinforced how grave this situation was.

"The medics said you refused to go to the hospital. Do you really think that's a good idea, Kate?" the Captain asked her.

"I'm tired," she said, so quietly, they almost didn't hear her. "No broken bones or anything. I'll go tomorrow, I promise."

She hesitated for a moment then, trying to summon her strength to brave the rest of this night alone, but then just gave herself the permission to ask for what she really wanted.

"Castle, take me to bed, please," she asked.

"Come on," he told her, glancing quickly at the guys, who moved out of the way.

Bearing most of her weight, he helped her into the bedroom, trying to keep his mind off what had just happened here. He made himself look away from the rumpled bedclothes, the signs of her struggle and the evidence collection.

He was leading her toward the bed, when he felt her pull back and start to drop to the floor.

"Kate," he cried, sinking down with her, wrapping her up in his arms.

"I can't stay here," she said, starting to panic. "I can't. I have to get out of here," she told him, gripping his shirt and starting to hyperventilate.

"Okay," he agreed. "Where?"

"Get me out of here," she repeated, kicking her legs, trying to back out of the room.

"Okay, but where do you want to go?" he asked, trying to stay calm. He had never seen her like this before and it scared him.

"With you," she stammered.

Castle grabbed a blanket from her bed, carefully wrapped her up, and then pulled her close to him. He picked her up and then went striding out the bedroom door.

The guys gave them a look of surprise.

"Get a car," Castle said firmly. "Now."


	5. Chapter 5

It seemed like hours before Kate was finally settled in Castle's bedroom. Ryan and Esposito only reluctantly agreed to leave after Castle promised them he would call them as soon as she woke up in the morning. Montgomery lingered a little longer, discussing the security.

"I'll keep four men downstairs at all time and I'll post two outside the elevator. I assume you have a decent alarm system."

"Of course, Captain, state of the art. She'll be safe here."

"She needs us, Rick."

"I know, sir. You can count on me," he replied, solemnly.

Montgomery glanced toward Castle's bedroom once more, sighed, and then left.

Castle went into his room and was surprised to find her awake and sitting up in his bed, her back against the headboard, the covers over her legs. She had showered and was wearing an old pair of his flannel pajamas. Wet hair framed her face and a small smile turned the corners of her lips.

The sight of her stirred him deeply. Desire rose in him so quickly, he had to beat it back down with everything he had.

"Feeling better, I see," he said, automatically feeling like an idiot, like he was bringing up the weather. And besides, would one shower really make her feel that much better after what had happened to her?

These gnawing emotions, worry and desire—they were a bad mix. Both of them were like ropes around his heart, steadily tightening, causing him to doubt himself and making him terrified of saying the wrong thing.

"It's nice in here," she told him, her voice still shaky.

"Thanks," he said, pausing at the threshold to the room.

"You don't have to stand by the door, Castle. You can come in," she laughed wearily.

"Right!" Castle marched into the room and then stood by his bed, unsure of what he should do next.

"Sit," she offered, patting the empty spot beside her. Castle obeyed.

"Do you need anything?" he asked.

She shook her head. "I'm fine, Castle. You can stop asking. How about I let you know if I need anything."

"Promise?"

"Yes, I promise," she agreed.

"Are you sure you don't need to go to the hospital?"

"I know I look pretty bad," she said, trying to smile for real, which she failed at miserably, considering her split lip.

"I've been beat up before, Castle. Really, I'm okay," she tried to say matter-of-factly.

"That makes me even sadder," he sighed.

"This …" Her hand briefly drifted toward her neck. "It'll heal. Honestly, the thing that hurts the most is my shoulder from when he …" she said, trailing off.

"When he …" he continued.

"That's how he got me," she answered quietly. "He got my arm wrenched behind my back. It was so sudden and … I couldn't do anything …"

She didn't mention the part where he put his boot on her—she didn't know if she would ever tell anyone that.

"Kate, you don't have to talk about this tonight. You must be exhausted. Maybe you should get some sleep …" Castle said, getting up. He didn't want to push her too much.

"No," she insisted, grabbing his arm so he would sit back down. "I can't sleep right now. Castle, I can't."

He took her hand in his as he sat back down and gave her a weak, lopsided grin.

"He was huge, Rick, so strong …" she told him. He pretended not to notice the tears welling up in her eyes.

"My only chance would have been to shoot him and I … I didn't have my gun on me … I had left it by the door. And he had me … he could have done anything to me … if Ryan and Esposito hadn't …"

"Kate …"

She pulled her knees up and wrapped her arms around them, burying her face so he couldn't see her.

"Hey," he whispered. He pushed aside his concerns about maintaining boundaries and moved to sit beside her. He wrapped his arm around her and gently pulled her into his chest. And though it felt wonderful to comfort her, it really did, it also worried him—when had she ever let him close to her like this? When had she ever cried in front of him?

"You must have been so scared," he said softly.

He felt her nod against him.

"I'm so sorry, Beckett …" he told her, kissing the top of her head.

"It's not your fault …" she insisted.

"You know it is," he disagreed. "Those damn books …"

"I love those damn books," she sniffled.

"No you don't," he replied. "All they've brought you is pain. I should never have written them."

She pulled away from him then.

"Don't," she said, firmly.

"What?"

"Don't go down this road," she warned.

"What road?"

"Don't blame yourself, Castle. Don't blame the books. You can't control what people are going to do, where they might take things. You wrote those books for a reason and things haven't been all bad. They have brought about good things, too …"

"Like what, Kate? Your colleagues tease you. The press pesters you. Nikki Heat has become this … slutty sex symbol, which I _never_ intended. Ever since I came into your life, everything has …"

"Been so much better," she finished. She touched his cheek for the briefest second before grabbing both of his hands tightly. "Look at me."

He looked at her then—her beautiful eyes were burning brightly, which kind of calmed him down.

"Those books brought us closer together. All the cases we have solved. All of the great times we've had together. Your bromance with the guys. You even have your own bulletproof vest, Castle. None of that would have happened without Nikki Heat."

"This woman wants to kill you, Kate. I can't …" he couldn't finish. He let go of her hands, jumped up, and started pacing the room.

"Some crazy fan wants to kill you because of me! The Captain told me what that guy said. You should be angry with me—furious! All I do is joke around and now someone is trying to kill you … he nearly did …" Castle ran a hand through his hair, beside himself.

"So, we'll deal with it … together—just like we always do!" she assured him. "We'll find the guy and whoever is behind it. We will, Castle. I promise!"

But he just shook his head, continuing to pace.

"Castle …" she started.

"No."

"Castle," she repeated.

He shook his head again, not stopping, not listening.

"Castle!" she snapped.

And then he did stop, but he still wouldn't look at her.

"Come back here," she requested wearily.

"Kate, I …"

"Please," she whispered. "Please, just come back …"

She didn't have to say anymore. Whatever she needed, he would do. He could kick himself for this bout of selfishness. He needed to be here for her—the worrying and the guilt could wait.

He rushed back over to her and pulled her into his arms again.

"I'm sorry, I just … I was so scared … and worried … and when I saw you …"

He pulled back from her then, his hands framing her face. He looked at her bruised eye and her cracked lip. He ran a thumb over her swollen cheekbone and tucked her hair behind her ear.

And despite the pain she was in, she welcomed his touch, but then he began to retreat and she didn't want him to, and before she realized what she was doing, her hands rose to grip his wrists, denying his withdrawal. He stopped and looked at her, puzzled.

"Kate?" he questioned, confused.

She leaned in toward him then, closing her eyes. She let go of his wrists and his hands fell to his lap, unsure of their purpose. Her arms rose and her fingers pushed through his hair as she rubbed her cheek softly against his.

"Castle," she whispered into his ear.

He took a deep breath then, flustered and uncertain. It was like she wanted him to kiss her, but that was impossible. Was it? Of course it was, he berated himself. She just wanted comfort. She was hurting … she was upset …

But then he felt her lips lightly land on his neck and he shuddered. His hands surged back to her, running up her arms, cradling her face. The air between them seemed to buzz.

"Castle," she repeated, this time, more insistently. And then she was kissing him, and not gently. She pulled him closer, her mouth opening, her tongue sliding between his lips—

Three years and his one true dream was playing out with more intensity and pleasure than he had ever imagined. He nearly pushed her back onto his bed before he was able to stop himself.

"Kate," he panted, trying to remain focused, even as her hands drifted onto his chest. "We can't …"

"Castle," she whimpered, knowing the last thing she could deal with right now was his rejection.

He turned away from her then, not trusting himself anymore. How easy it would be to just give in and touch her right now. He could almost feel her skin under his hands. But it wasn't right—she wasn't okay. If they did this and then she regretted it, or if she felt like she had been taken advantage of—it would kill him.

"I'm sorry, Kate," he told her softly. "We shouldn't …"

Somewhere in the back of her mind, she knew he was right, that he was only pulling away because of the timing, the circumstance, not because he didn't want her.

But that tiny voice of reason was completely overshadowed by her need—her need to be held, to be loved, to have her body touched with passion instead of cruelty. She needed his hands on her body, needed him inside her, to remember that someone in this world wanted to love her instead of hurt her.

Even if she had to awaken tomorrow, forced to navigate a new world where they were more than partners, more than friends, she could have faced it. Even if it didn't work out and they ended up never speaking to each other again—something she highly doubted—it didn't matter. Her mind, for once in her whole goddamned life, was not rational, and it felt good. It felt wonderful.

She would have forgiven him anything right then—but not this.

Without a word, without a glance, she retreated from him and headed back to the place she knew so well, the place where she was cut off, alone, and strong. It had always been so easy for her to stay there, in her fortress. Only now did she see it for the prison it was.

And now that she had glimpsed inside that garden—where people loved and were loved, where she could touch him and kiss him and tell him how she really felt about him—she would never be the same again. Now she knew what it felt like, to let someone she truly loved inside her walls. She was changed.

She could keep pretending if she liked, but she wasn't deceiving anyone but herself. Solitude may sound noble, even remotely appealing, but it was such a small existence.

The garden, it would never be hers. She had been a fool to think otherwise.

In an instant, she had rolled over, shown her back to him, and pulled the covers over her shoulders.

"Kate, please, I'm sorry, please don't be mad, I just … Kate!" he pleaded.

She ignored him.

Castle turned away in frustration, sitting on the side of the bed, wondering what the hell had just happened. What had he been thinking? If that's what she wanted, he should have given it to her. Who was he to decide what she wanted and what she could handle?

He was beside himself with anger now—he felt what he had done was irreparable. She would probably never even look him in the eyes again and she would never, _ever_, open herself to him again. He had blown it—he had held her in his arms and willingly let her go.

But as much as that hurt, he still wouldn't feel right being with her in that way tonight. He didn't want to be with her in pain, in fear or comfort, even if there was real love mixed in there. He wanted her when she was strong and herself, when they were laughing together, not crying.

"I'm sorry. I just don't think this is the best time," he explained.

_Not the best time? _He was a writer for God's sake—he couldn't say it any better than that?

He sighed deeply.

"Kate, I'm so sorry," he quavered. "The last thing I want to do is hurt you."

"Just stay with me," she managed. It was all she would allow herself. Tomorrow, she would be stronger.


	6. Chapter 6

Sitting in her high-backed, leather chair, looking out from her from her Upper West Side penthouse, Esther Van Arden downed the shot of Macallan 1939 and set the glass down on the Parnian desk before her.

She glanced at her watch, frowning at his lateness. She didn't like to wait—ever—but then she hadn't hired him for his punctuality.

At that moment, as if on cue, he knocked on the door and was buzzed in. Alan, her assistant, greeted Mr. Snow briefly and then escorted him into her office. She nodded at Alan, who left quickly, closing the door behind him.

Mr. Snow approached her desk slowly, his heavy shuffle irritating her even further. He was no more than a dim-witted brute—she should have known better than to hire him for such a sensitive task. She wouldn't make that mistake again.

She gestured for him to sit down and he obliged.

"Well …?" she asked.

He looked away for a moment, as if trying to find words, or an excuse that she might buy.

"Some of her cop buddies showed up. I had to bail …" he said, gruffly. "I will get her next time."

Esther smiled sarcastically and after a moment of silence, began to speak.

"Mr. Snow, I find I'm a bit confused. Please enlighten me as to how it takes over ten minutes to kill a female half your size."

"Were you watching me?" he asked, nervous now.

"Of course I wasn't. I have people to do that for me," she replied, calmly.

"She put up a fight, and then those cops showed up. I ran out of time," he explained, this time more fervently.

"Now, Mr. Snow, certainly there is no need for dishonesty at this point. From what I understand, you were … how should I put it … toying with Detective Beckett?"

"I …" he started.

"Be careful what you say, Mr. Snow …"

He sighed. "I may have prolonged the situation a bit."

"Ah, so there it is. The truth. Excellent!" she said, satisfied.

He frowned and shifted in his chair.

"Now, what task did I entrust you with, Mr. Snow?" she asked demurely.

"To kill Detective Beckett," he replied.

"And was your task completed?"

He looked away from her then, stiff with fear he was not accustomed to.

"You know I didn't," he mumbled, grumpily.

"Then you can see the problem I have, Mr. Snow. I hired you to complete one task, a simple task really, for a man like you. And yet, Detective Beckett lives."

He stared at her, defeated. This woman was crazy. He should never have let his control get away from him. All of this for a hot chick he'd never have.

"I'll finish her off tomorrow night," he insisted.

"Hmmm …" she replied, standing up and going to the large bay window. "The problem is, you tipped our hand when you played your little game with the detective. Now, she is behind a wall of security and police protection. They are expecting us now, Mr. Snow. We have lost the element of surprise."

"I will get to her!" he vowed. "Consider it done."

"Oh, Mr. Snow. I do consider this done."

He heard the door behind him open, but before he could react, two bullets entered the back of his head, and he slumped over. Alan and another man silently dragged Mr. Snow from their boss's office and closed the door behind them. It all took less than a minute. She never took her eyes off the view of Central Park.

Inside, though she never showed any outward emotion, she was fuming. Mr. Snow's ineptness had set in motion the very thing she had wanted to prevent. _She_ was with him now—the very thought made her stomach twist in envy.

All of her best-laid plans were wasted. Her dream of seeing Kate Beckett's lifeless body on the page of every newspaper in the city was delayed now and all because some mutant giant wanted to fuck his target.

She would just have to be patient now, choose her employees more carefully. She would have what she wanted soon enough. She didn't claw her way out of that West Virginia cesspool for nothing.

Staring out the window, she reflected over the past few years—her transition from Terri Lynn Balmer to Esther Van Arden had gone swimmingly. It had been easy enough to seduce the elderly, wealthy Sinclair Van Arden and even easier to have him murdered while he was overseas, never drawing even an ounce of suspicion that she had been behind it.

She had played the role of grieving widow perfectly, with conviction—even Sinclair's children hadn't blinked an eye when she inherited the vast majority of his estate. They thought she deserved it—and she did. She had put up with his boorish manners and bizarre sexual appetites for nearly three years. She had paid her dues ten fold.

And now no one was standing in her way of finally possessing the things she had always dreamed of—money, power, status—it was all hers for the taking. And she wanted to start with the one thing she had coveted most—Richard Castle.

She sighed and glanced over at her bookshelf, where Mr. Castle's entire bibliography featured prominently. She remembered the first time she saw him, when she took Martha Rodger's acting workshop that met one night in her son's apartment. He had walked through the kitchen when they were on a break and she had studied him from behind a door.

She loved the way he walked, how unassuming he was. She loved how his hair fell over his forehead and his smile lit up a room. She loved his quirky eyebrow and handsome face. She had wanted him instantly.

He had been on the phone, laughing, talking intimately with someone. Esther had been smiling, enjoying her fantasy, until he had said her name—Beckett.

And then—Kate.

At that moment, she promised herself that whoever this Kate Beckett was, she would destroy her. She would do whatever it took to get this whore out of her way. He was hers now.

For weeks after, she read his books and scoured the Internet for anything she could find about him. She attended parties and charity events with the sole purpose of being close to him. When that wasn't enough anymore, she hired someone to tail him and report all of his conversations, his habits, his outings. She had savored every surveillance report—until they became less about Richard and more about _her_.

She thought it would just be a matter of time before they would meet properly at a fundraising event and she could work her magic on him, the same way she had seduced her husband. She never doubted her ability to procure a man—they were such suckers for a pretty face and hers was one of the prettiest.

But she was tired of waiting and from what she could tell, she was losing him more every day. He was in love with Kate Beckett. It was obvious—the books, the personal dedications inside the covers, his daily visits to the police station, the two coffees he carried with him nearly every day, the increasing frequency of telephone conversations.

It was simply time to act. She had made some calls, paid some money, and received a guarantee it would be done. And it was not. And now she had to come up with a better plan.

She had opened that bottle of Macallan 1939 to celebrate the demise of Detective Beckett, but it was not to be. This time, she would take care of it herself.

She turned back to her desk and pressed the intercom button.

"Ms. Van Arden?" Alan inquired politely.

"Step up the surveillance on Richard Castle's apartment. And put a detail on Detective Beckett's place as well. I want to know everything," she ordered.

"Yes, at once, ma'am," he replied.

Looking out over the city again, she smiled to herself. Maybe this wasn't so bad after all. She _would_ win—there was no question about that. So, why not enjoy the game when the prize was already hers? The wait would only make winning so much sweeter.

_I can do this_, she thought. _It's my turn now_.


	7. Chapter 7

The first thing she noticed when she woke up the next morning was that he was still there. A small smile crept to her face as she rolled onto her side and stared at him.

He looked ridiculous—he had wrapped his body around a rather uncomfortable looking chair and had a fist balled up and tucked under his chin, like "The Thinker." One shoe was off—his left one—and a red flannel blanket was bizarrely wrapped around his head like a shawl. She suppressed a giggle.

He had moved during the night though. The nightstand was now an arsenal of first aid supplies—a thermometer, gauze, antibiotic creams and pills, even prescription pain pills. And there was nutrition—fruit, crackers, water, a can of orange juice, which made her pause, because who bought orange juice in a can?

The best part though was that it was arranged perfectly, even by category. How long had he worked on that when she had been sleeping?

And then last night suddenly came back to her and the smile left her face. Her stomach clenched up tightly, making her feel sick and nauseous.

He had been right, of course. The last thing they should have been doing last night was crossing a major boundary, especially one that was so emotionally wrought. And even though part of her would kiss him right now if the opportunity presented itself, mostly she was relieved that he had been able to possess some self control.

What was she going to say to him when he woke up? Should she talk about last night? Should she ignore it and deflect? She knew he would follow her lead. If she wanted to brush past this, he would let her. He would never push her.

He stirred then and her heart started beating faster in her chest. She felt a rush of blood to her head. What was she going to say to him?

But then, all at once, like it had been waiting behind the gates, the pain from her injuries seemed to hit every nerve in her body. Not able to stop herself, she groaned out loud.

"Beckett!" he cried, springing to life, yanking off the blanket and sitting up. "What's wrong?"

"Hurts," she managed. "All over."

"Oh, God, Kate. I'm so sorry!" he told her, grabbing the bottle of painkillers and the glass of water, which half spilled on the floor before she felt it shoved into her hands.

"I should have woken you up to take your pills! I'm so sorry!" he apologized, tearing open the pill bottle. He put two pills in her other hand and went to help her sit up.

"Ah!" she cried out painfully when he tried to moved her.

"God, I'm sorry!" he repeated, letting go of her immediately, which caused her to fall back against the headboard. She yelped in pain, barely holding onto the water and pills.

"Sorry, Kate!" he said, guiltily. He took the pills and water back from her. "Open up!"

She opened her mouth for him and he placed the two pills on her tongue. He held the glass while she drank them down. After she had swallowed them, he set the glass back down on the nightstand.

"You should be in a hospital, Kate. I suck at this and those pills are going to take forever to work. I should take you to the hospital."

"I'm okay," she whispered. Then the pain flowed through her again, forcing her eyes closed and a moan to escape from her lips. So much for being strong.

He told her he would be back and then left the room.

* * *

When she woke up again, the light in the room had turned a deep orange. It was beautiful. She smiled.

She glanced to her side though and immediately frowned. There was an IV there now. One bag was completely empty, hanging next to the one that was still connected to her and almost empty.

She turned her head and Castle was sitting in the chair beside her. The other chair was gone—this one was plush and leather. It looked way more comfortable.

"Chair," she croaked.

He gave her a questioning smile and then said, "Hi."

"Hi," she said, starting to cough. Very smoothly, he took the glass of water (now filled again) from the table and approached her. He gently slid his hand behind her head, tilted it forward, and waited for her to drink. After she was done, he laid her head back down.

"Better," she half teased.

"I got lessons," he explained in the amusingly giddy way he talked when he was nervous and excited. "Lanie came over and brought all of these cool things with her and then she told me exactly what I needed to do to take care of you. I assure you—you won't be in pain again."

"Thanks," she smiled.

"I'm sorry I made things worse," he apologized.

"It's fine," she yawned. She started to feel funny all of a sudden and made a face.

"What's wrong?" he asked, concerned. "Are you hurting again?"

"I feel weird," she explained, her tongue heavy.

"It's the morphine," he said, quickly.

"I'm on morphine?" she asked him. She was mad for a split second and then really didn't care anymore.

"I know you hate serious drugs like that, Kate, but Lanie said it was the only way she would let you stay here. She said they would dope you up more in the hospital. You're really hurt," he finished, trying to hide his worry.

"I'm fine," she replied, her words thick in her mouth.

"You always say that …"

"I get beat up a lot," she explained.

"Yeah, you've mentioned that, too," he said, sadly.

"Where's Alexis … and your mom?" she asked, changing the subject.

"Palm Springs. Mother needed a break from her stressful life," he joked.

"I need a break from my stressful life," she admitted, surprising Castle.

"Oh yeah?" he said casually, taking a sip of coffee.

"Yeah, maybe you can finally take me to the Hamptons."

Castle almost spit the coffee out of his mouth. Where was this coming from? They had never talked about that since the day he won the bet and joined the team again. It had almost been a year. Why in the world …?

And then it hit him—she was on morphine. Lanie said she might act a little … less guarded … but he had never expected this. He didn't know what to do. Should they talk about it? Should he let it go, joke around, and pass it off, like they usually did? Would she even remember what she was saying?

After all of that thinking though, he ended up saying the first thing that came to his mind.

"You could have come with me in May," he told her.

"I tried to," she said matter-of-factly. "But you seemed to be having a great time with Gina."

"You tried to? What do you mean?

"You were with Gina," she reminded him.

"I only invited Gina because you wouldn't go," he said, defensively.

"Didn't look that way to me," Kate said, yawning.

He couldn't believe the casual nature of this conversation. He almost didn't want to go further, but he figured it was better to talk about this now—even considering the circumstances—than never.

"Well, I am sure you had a great summer with Demming," he countered, wincing when he remembered the two of them together, talking at her desk, Demming whispering in her ear. It had killed him to see that.

She laughed then—actually _laughed_. His feelings were hurt for a moment, but he wanted to be patient with her, so he pushed them aside.

"I broke up with Demming right before your little going away party, Castle," she said, a little more seriously.

"You _what_?"

"If you had listened to me when I asked you to step outside, I would have told you … can I have more water?" she asked, politely.

This was absolutely maddening. For her to be so—unemotional about this, to be so nonchalant. He knew it was the drugs, but it didn't make it hurt any less.

"Castle? Water?" she repeated.

He handed her the glass. She took a sip and handed it back to him. He set his coffee down on the nightstand, too.

"That's why you were so mad at me when I came back in the fall …" he mused aloud.

"Um, _yeah_. I was about to tell you and then Gina walked in and you were all over each other, just laughing at me and shoving it in my face …"

"Kate, I had no idea. I thought you were laughing at me," he explained.

"Oh, so when you asked her to go, it was just to make me jealous?" she inquired.

"Well, yeah," he said, simply.

"Oh," she replied, dropping her eyes and looking down at her hands.

He was staring at her intently, beside himself with frustration and pissed off at how much time had passed since then. They should have talked about it back then, but he had been so glad to be her partner again, he hadn't wanted to push.

"Why did you break up with him?"

"Why do you think, Castle?" she retorted.

"Tell me," he insisted.

"You know why," she sighed.

"Why can't you say it?" he asked, exasperated.

"Why can't you?" she bit back.

"Jesus, you're impossible!" he cried, standing up and walking away from the bed. He went over to his dresser, put his hands on the edge, and dropped his head.

"I know," she admitted.

"I had no idea … about any of this," he told her, ignoring her statement. "I knew you were mad at me, but I never knew why."

And then it hit him—the guys, how strange they acted when he came back last fall, how mad they had been at him. Even Montgomery had acted strange. And then he remembered that everyone had been inside the room watching them, probably waiting for them to do or say _somethin_g. And the show he put on with Gina, acting like he didn't care. He was mortified.

"Everyone knew?" he asked, feeling sick to his stomach. He looked at her then.

She nodded.

"God, I was such an ass!" he shouted. "Why didn't you say anything?"

"Um … jealous. I wasn't about to ruin your reunion with Gina."

"But if I had known that you and Demming …"

"Did you sleep with Gina that summer?" she interrupted.

"What? No!" he assured her, coming back to her side. Instead of the chair though, he sat beside her on the bed.

"I'm so sorry, Kate," he told her, gently pulling her into his arms. "I had no idea. I would give anything to go back to that day, to do it differently. I didn't call you that summer because I couldn't take the thought of you with Demming. That's why I didn't want to come back. It had nothing to with Gina or the book. I just … you were breaking my heart …" he confessed.

"I know the feeling," she said so quietly, he wasn't positive she had really said it.

He pulled back from her then and willed her to look at him.

"We need to talk about last night," he insisted.

But she shook her head and lay back down against the pillows.

"I'm tired," she whispered. "I'm sorry …"

"Please Kate," he objected, but it was a losing fight. She couldn't even keep her eyes open anymore. Within seconds, she was asleep again.

"Damn it!" he said, even more frustrated than before. But what could he do? Force her awake? Make her talk?

He moved back over to the chair, determined to finish this conversation when she woke up again. If she even remembered …

Watching her sleep, he thought about all that had transpired that night when she had come into the party and asked him to step outside. He remembered her saying that she had something to tell him, but he had been trying so hard to pass off that charade with Gina, he hadn't even noticed. He had already closed himself off by then, already decided that he couldn't work with her anymore. If only …

He sighed, not having a clue how things would progress now, but he was certain of one thing. He had given her too much space in the past. He had been too willing to let things go, to avoid talking about the important things. He had been too scared to push her on anything, lest she push him away.

He couldn't let her off the hook like that anymore. She was used to being closed off emotionally—it was easy for her. If he kept letting her get away with it, she would never change her ways and they would never move forward.

As soon as she felt better, he was going to press her more, challenge her. And he was so grateful she was here. Home field advantage was definitely a bonus and he needed all of the help he could get.


	8. Chapter 8

The next six days passed slowly as Kate started to regain her strength. She had gone off the pain medication as soon as she had felt able to and had started to walk around the house a bit.

Castle was the consummate caretaker—meeting, even anticipating, every need she had. He cooked for her, helped her to and from the bathroom, read to her at night, and kept her company when she couldn't sleep. He had sent for her clothes and practically replicated her treatments and toiletries from her bathroom at home.

He even had someone get her mail each day and bring it over. And as was intended, the normalcy of it did comfort her. Funny to think that a credit card bill would be a welcome sight, but now that so much was out of place, it was reassuring to know the world was still going on.

He had been the perfect gentleman, too—almost to her annoyance. He had not once tried to capitalize on his proximity to her. He averted his eyes when she dressed and undressed, and brushed her hair with the careful application of a professional. He performed nearly every intimate gesture she could imagine without ever getting remotely close to her.

The implied respect she appreciated, but she was growing rather tired of not seeing the real Castle behind his eyes. She didn't know what to make of it. Did he not want to talk about what had happened over the past few days?

She didn't know how to respond to his distancing. It left her feeling unsure. She remembered nearly every moment that had passed between them since she had arrived. She remembered the conversation about The Hamptons, the kiss from the first night, everything.

She sighed when she stepped out of the shower and began toweling herself off. Having managed to dress herself, she was now staring at herself in the half steam-covered mirror.

Martha and Alexis were coming home the next day and though it was still unexpressed, Kate planned to be gone before their arrival. She could take care of herself now and they could just send the uniforms over to her place for protection until the killer had been caught. There was no real need for her to still stay with him anymore.

But before she left, she was determined to break this stalemate between them. She wanted the time they had shared together to count for something. In all honesty, she just wanted to kiss him and tell him that she loved him, but she couldn't bring herself to do it. She just wasn't there yet. She wasn't ready to say the words.

What she wanted was to kiss him and not talk. She wanted the seriousness of the circumstances to lift long enough for them to have some fun, to touch each other, and explore each other, without pain or tears.

So her plan was to come onto him. She had a little trick up her sleeve and though it was shameless, she was going to use it to her advantage.

She looked at herself one more time in the mirror, said a little prayer, and opened the door.

"There you are!" he exclaimed, smiling, as he helped her back to the bed. But the smile left his face when he saw the T-shirt she was wearing.

It was an old one, ancient really. It was threadbare, grey, and had a hole at the neck. On it was the slogan from a fiction-writing workshop he had taken before he had started the Derrick Storm series. _Novels Are Novel_—it said, the faded blue lettering barely visible anymore.

After that workshop, he had finally felt like a real writer, and that T-shirt symbolized so much to him. He went from amateur to pro that week, and within six months, the first Derrick Storm novel had been written. Three months later, it had been published.

That shirt meant everything to him and his heart tightened just seeing it on her.

Plus, she looked amazing in it. The way her small breasts rose under the thin material … Jesus …

"Thanks," she told him, when she was back in bed and under the covers. He sat down next to her in the leather chair.

She watched him stare at her and also try not to stare at her. She had found this shirt in the back of a drawer he had let her borrow. He must have forgotten to move it when he had taken his other shirts out to make room for her clothes.

She had a feeling that the shirt was special to him, but the way he was looking at her now told her that this shirt was supremely special to him. He reminded her of the big bad wolf, all looming and dark intentioned. Despite herself, she let slip a small giggle.

"Was it something I said?" he asked in that same, stilted, wanting-to-sound-charming voice he had been using for two days. It was the voice he used to cover up his real feelings, and it bothered the hell out of her.

She shook her head, though a small smile still remained on her lips.

Castle was working very hard not to completely freak out. That shirt. That shirt on her. That shirt on her when she was in his bed. That shirt on her when she was in his bed and her hair was still wet from the shower.

He wanted her so badly, but he steeled himself against moving toward her.

"Where did you find that shirt?" he asked, trying to make his voice sound even.

"In the drawer," she smirked. "Is it a problem? Should I take it off?"

He shook his head no—it was all he could manage. His mind kept telling him that she wasn't ready yet, that he needed to resist her, even though every other part of his body begged him to move forward.

At first he had been excited about having her so close to him, but now it felt like a brutal test of his self-control. He didn't want a repeat of the first night, nor did he want their first time to be clouded by the specter of sadness or pain. He had thought this would be the perfect time to move things forward, but now he wanted for things to be normal between them—light and flirty, not serious and gutting.

He wanted her to be strong and for her natural passion to shine through. She was only on the path to recovery now. She still had horrible bruises; she still had nightmares that brought tears to his eyes when he was watched her sleep at night. One of the things he loved about her was her strength and ass-kicking attitude—he wanted _his_ Kate back, and once he had her, he wouldn't hold back.

He closed his eyes for a fraction of a second and when he opened them, he was refocused and different.

"So what shall it be tonight?" he asked, cheerfully. "_Great Expectations_? Or we could finish the biography on Cher. I think I still have Alexis's copy of _Everyone Poops_ around here somewhere."

She frowned at him then. Was he really trying to change the subject? And trying to be cute about it?

"Castle, come here and sit beside me," she said, quietly.

"Cher, it is!" he answered, finally breaking eye contact with her and reaching for the book.

"I mean it, come over here," she urged him, shifting over to make more room for him.

He sighed, got up, and sat down on the side of the bed as far away from her as possible.

"Okay, I'm here," he managed.

She stared at him, baffled.

"What's with you?" she demanded.

"What do you mean?" he asked.

"What is wrong with you?" she repeated.

"Nothing is wrong with me," he informed her.

She was getting frustrated now. For her, this was practically throwing herself at him. She was in his shirt, in his bed, and was close enough to kiss him. What was his problem?

Funny, with other men, she was utterly confident. She was in charge—she _took_ charge. She took what she wanted when she wanted it. She never knew there was another way.

But it was different with him. She felt as if she was standing on the edge of a cliff, one foot hanging over the precipice, her weight about to shift forward. In other words—scared. He needed to catch her, and from the look of things, he was about to bolt the other way.

Finally, the tension broke her and she blurted out the first thing that came to her—"Why aren't you making a play for me?" she demanded, the strength of her voice masking how terrible she felt inside.

"Make a play for you? What is this—baseball?" he joked, managing a forced laugh.

"You know what I mean, Castle," she retaliated. It had come out wrong and now she couldn't take it back, which made her madder.

"No, _Beckett_, I don't …" he replied, turning away from her and standing up beside the bed.

"Around every other woman in the world, you are confident and charming," she exclaimed, her voice rising slightly. "You are never hesitant or shy. You could be in a bed filled with women and be completely at ease. You sign women's breasts, for Christ's sake."

"And your point is …" he replied, trying to play down how shocked he was.

"You're a freaking Casanova! Women actually throw themselves at your feet."

"You don't."

"That's my _point_, Castle!" she asserted. She pulled her legs out of the covers and sat on the side of the bed.

"How is that your point?" he asked, backing up a little.

"You aren't that way around me." It was a statement.

"Are you saying I'm not charming around you? Or confident? Or both?" he pushed back.

"No, of course you're charming and funny and amazing, it's just …" she broke off, really frustrated now.

"I don't make you want to throw yourself at my feet, that's what you're saying, right?"

She looked at him with a funny expression on her face—it was her best what-in-the-hell-do-you-think-I-am-doing-right-now expression.

"But what you're really saying is that I—me, Rick Castle—has not aggressively come onto you." He couldn't believe he had said that. It was the most direct he had ever been with her about this topic.

"Well, maybe not 'aggressively,'" she air quoted, which made him frown. She lowered her arms. "You know what I mean …"

"Yes, I think I do. You are saying that there is something different about you and me in that you are not throwing yourself at my unconfident, uncharming feet …"

"Quit harping on that!" she interrupted.

"You think I haven't tried hard enough, is that it?"

"No, that's not it," she sighed. "I should have never said anything …"

"No, I'm glad you said something. There are too many unanswered questions between us. Here's one of mine—why do you think I haven't come onto you?"

She paused, not having an immediate answer. She glanced up at him and he was looking away. She realized then how upset he was. Her little game was turning out to be anything but. She had only meant to tease him a little.

"You know something, you are absolutely right!" he exclaimed, interrupting her thoughts. "I should have come onto you when we first met …"

She sent a glance his way. It wasn't lost on him.

"Okay, maybe I should have _really_ come onto you, asked you out for drinks and a fancy dinner. Dropped some names and taken you for a ride in my Ferrari. Maybe then you would have thrown yourself at my feet!"

He was really amped up now.

"Maybe I should have ignored you when you said you needed space. Maybe I should have been a complete jackass and tried to push you before you were ready …" He tried to cut himself off there, but he couldn't.

"Hmmm … I wonder what it could be, Kate! What on earth would make me want to respect your wishes? To wait for you—for so long! And try, as hard as I could, on every level?" He had started off sarcastically, but he ended up quiet and breathless.

He looked at her then and waited—waited for something, for anything. She wouldn't make him say it, would she? That the reason he had never pushed her was because he loved her? With other women, it was easy to get them in bed because he didn't love them. If they weren't into it, which rarely happened, he just moved onto the next. He didn't push Kate because he was sacred of losing her, and you only get scared of losing someone when you love that person.

She felt like a jerk. All she wanted was for him to understand that she might need help breaking down her walls. _Why can't you just say that to him?_

But she knew she couldn't say that to him, because she could not ask for help. She never could.

"Castle," said, quietly. "Sometimes, I don't want you to placate me. I don't know how to say it. It's like you're … you're dancing around my walls and I just want …"

"You want me to storm them," he interrupted.

"Yes."

"And you think I don't want to?"

"No … I mean yes, … I don't know," she was having a hard time concentrating now. She felt too open to him. With that one word—yes—she had laid down her weapons and opened her gates to him. And he _still _wasn't doing anything.

And now she was freaking out, and also getting turned on, and the mix of emotions was so foreign to her. She was used to feeling solid emotions, one at a time. These feelings were so powerful and they were all fighting to be acknowledged. She wanted to kiss him and punch him at the same time.

He was at war with himself, too. Half of him was already pushing her down on the bed, and the other half was doing everything it could to prevent that.

"You can't have it both ways, Kate. First you want me to respect your walls and now you want me to ignore them? What do you want from me?" He looked truly exasperated now.

She was kicking herself and could tell she was losing him. She needed to say something he would understand. _Don't think, just say something!_

"I just need your help," she managed, wincing as she said it, even though it was true.

They were very close to each other now and both were breathing heavily. Normally, he would have backed off, but he stayed. And so did she.

"You've never asked me for that," he replied, kind of shocked. She had never asked him for help, with anything. He couldn't help but feel they were turning some kind of corner.

"I know," she admitted.

"Meet me halfway?" he suggested.

She smiled at him and took his hands in hers. She took one step forward; he did, too. They paused in front of each other, close enough to kiss if only …

They both looked down, shyly. And then Castle brought his hands to her face. He stared at her with an expression she had never seen before. He wasn't trying to mask his feelings for her anymore; he _wanted_ her to know how he felt.

She pressed her cheek against his hand and slightly tilted her face toward him.

"Kate," he gulped, running one hand through her hair now.

"It's okay," she told him.

That was all he needed. Before Kate could take another breath, his lips were upon his, urgently. He kissed her so sweetly, so reverently and so passionately, tears came to her eyes.

"Jesus," she whimpered when they finally surfaced to breathe.

"I know," he whispered back. His hands ran up her back then, and he could nearly feel her skin beneath the thin material of the shirt.

"You like the shirt?" She whispered this directly into his ear.

"You have no idea," he practically growled, kissing her again. He pulled her tighter against him, for once, wanting her to feel exactly what she did to him. And when she arched into him and kissed him harder, he thought he would explode into a million little happy pieces.

And then a phone rang.

"No," he groaned into her mouth.

It was her phone. She had to answer it.

"I'm gonna get …" she said.

"Get it," he said, simultaneously. They stood close to each other for one more precious moment before Beckett turned away from him and reached for her phone.

"Beckett," she answered, her voice not betraying a hint of the emotions raging inside of her.

"It's the captain," she whispered to him. He smiled weakly at her.

She listened to him speak for a good minute before she replied.

"So, basically you're saying you have nothing …" she frowned, throwing an annoyed look toward Castle.

This wasn't sounding good. Castle tried to reach for her hand, but she yanked it away and walked to the other side of the room.

Castle pushed down the lid on his feelings, trying not to be wounded by what she had just done.

"Nothing on the parachute? No forensic evidence of any kind?"

She paused for Montgomery to answer before speaking again.

"What about the paper and the ink from the note that was in Gretta's mouth?"

The answer was obviously no.

"And nothing from my apartment?"

Again, the answer was no.

Kate sighed heavily and ran her fingers through her hair.

"Okay, well, I am feeling better, so I can be back to help out tomorrow …" she said, glancing at Castle, who shook his head.

"Or the day after," she corrected, winking at him.

But while Kate listened to the captain's reply, Castle watched her face turn darker and angrier with each passing second.

"What do you mean I'm off the case?" she roared.

Castle loudly sucked in air, his face turning into a grimace. He couldn't imagine anything worse for her to hear right now. At his outburst, she gave him a nasty look and turned away from him again.

She started to pace while Montgomery gave his reasons.

"But I am fine. I am much better now!" she insisted.

Castle overhead the Captain say something about how this had nothing to do with her health, but for her safety.

"I can take care of myself, Captain," she reminded him.

It was obvious the Captain didn't agree with her. Kate stopped pacing and sat down on the end of the bed.

"Please," she said, the very word seeming to pain her. She listened to his reply, shaking her head the whole time.

"So what am I supposed to do? Hide in my apartment until we catch them?"

Castle winced when she said that. He figured she was leaving soon, but now that she had said it out loud, he realized how much he had really wanted her to stay.

Kate was fuming, listening to Montgomery's reply.

"I'm a detective. This is what I do!" she protested.

But the Captain wasn't having any of it. After a few more moments of listening to him, Kate hissed out a "Fine!" and ended the call, throwing the phone on the bed.

"Maybe he's right, Kate," Castle pointed out, immediately regretting it. Her head whipped around and she looked him square in the eyes. She got up and walked back over to him, looking very mad.

"We only want to protect you," he tried, instantly regretting that statement, too. What was wrong with him? Those were perhaps the two worst things he could have said to her right now.

"We? So, you're part of this now?" she accused.

"No!" he rushed to tell her. "It's just … we're all worried about you. And for good reason, Kate! That guy almost killed you!"

"I don't need anyone to protect me!" she bickered. "You aren't my father, and neither is Montgomery. I am quite capable of taking care of myself!"

"We just want to help," he pleaded.

"I don't need your help either!" she reminded him quite loudly.

"But … you …" Castle stammered, trying not to show how much that one statement had hurt him. Just when they had turned a corner.

"I can do just fine on my own," she assured him, starting to quickly move around the bedroom now. She opened up her drawer and grabbed some clothes, which she then threw onto the bed.

"What are you doing?" he asked her, scared of the answer.

"I'm leaving," she informed him.

"But what about …?" he trailed off. He was looking at the shirt again, lamenting the fact that five minutes ago, he probably would have been taking it off of her.

She watched his eyes on her and then remembered his shirt, which only reminded her of kissing him. They had finally gotten there, were finally _really_ talking to each other, and now they were here. All she wanted to do was solve this case and move forward and it enraged her that she wouldn't be able to. All she felt now was anger.

Livid, she tore off the shirt and threw it on the bed.

His draw dropped about a foot as he took in the sight of her bare chest. He knew his mouth was open, but he didn't care. Her skin, her breasts—they were every bit as beautiful as he had imagined they would be.

"Oh grow up!" she snapped at him, which shut him down immediately. He watched as she put her clothes on, even her socks and boots, without saying a word.

"Where's my gun and wallet?" she demanded. He glanced toward his dresser and she retrieved them, along with her keys. She walked around the side of the bed and grabbed her phone, too.

When she strode out of the bedroom, Castle jumped up and followed her. She was at the front door before he caught up with her.

He started to panic as she shrugged on her coat.

"Don't leave, Kate," he blurted out.

Kate turned to face the door and put her hand on the knob.

"Wait!" he cried out, putting a hand on her shoulder.

"I'm fine," she said, bitterly, still not looking at him.

"Just stay one more night. You're still hurt. I could drive you home tomorrow. I can make smiley face pancakes. Just stay. Please, Kate," he said, not caring if he sounded like he was begging. He _was_ begging.

To his dismay, she opened the door and took one step out of it.

"I'm sorry," she whispered.

And then she was gone.


	9. Chapter 9

_**CASTLE**_

He closed the door behind her softly, barely resisting the urge to follow her. He didn't let go of the doorknob for some time.

He was sort of hoping she would come back, but he knew she wouldn't. She wasn't the type to come back—or to want him to follow her. She shouldn't be traipsing around the city in her condition though. He would have felt much better if she had just let him drop her off.

Sighing heavily, he turned from the door and glanced at his watch—6:15pm. He had the whole night ahead of him to ponder what had just happened. Great.

Grabbing a beer from the kitchen, he walked over to one of the windows in the living room and stared outside. The sun was going down and it was starting to rain. He tried not to think of her alone out there.

He wanted to call Montgomery and pretty much beg him to let her back on the case, but he knew it was futile. Castle had watched the man very closely the night of Kate's attack and the concern and worry in his eyes was more than what a boss should feel for his employee. Montgomery had looked shaken that night and Castle guessed he had felt as powerless as he had.

He should have known Montgomery would kick her off the case. Letting her continue had to be violating some kind of protocol. Plus, he could have explored the possibility with Kate so she wouldn't have been so upset. They could have talked about it—maybe even bonded over it. Too late now.

He finished off the beer and went into the kitchen to get another one. This time, he sat on the couch and stared at the painting of the polar bear on the wall across from him.

After all that had happened this afternoon, this week even, all he could think about was how good it felt to finally touch her. He closed his eyes and remembered her lips on his, her hands on his chest, how sexy she had been in that damn T-shirt.

What had that been all about anyway? How had she found it? Had she gone looking through his stuff? Had he left it by accident in the drawer he had cleared out for her? And why had she put it on—because she needed a shirt and it looked comfy?

He thought about asking Alexis why someone would do that when the answer came to him. It was the same reason why ads and movies showed women in their man's button down shirts. It was sexy to see the woman you love in your clothes. My god, he had almost devoured her when he saw her in it.

But why would Kate …

His eyes flew open. She had done it on purpose. That had to be it! Kate was hardly the seductive temptress type. She would never be so outward about her feelings and desires, at least not now. But he could see how that one small thing could be huge for her.

"Shit," he muttered.

In her mind, Kate _had_ been throwing herself at his feet. Now it all made sense. That bewildering discussion about him not being confident around her—all she had wanted was for him to notice what a risk she was taking and respond to her. But, unsure, he had held back, which really wasn't surprising since that's all he had done for the past two years—trying _not_ to read into things.

For the first time since they had known each other, something dawned on him. They were both people who went for what they wanted—they were both confident, forward, even aggressive when they needed to be. And these past few years had been completely out of character for both of them.

These scared, timid people they had become—especially him—was totally contrary to their natures. And he could only imagine how that had influenced and affected them. Never in his life had he been such a puppy dog. Granted, he had never loved anyone as much as he loved her, but still, he always followed her lead and never questioned it. Now, he was so used to holding back what he truly felt that he couldn't even act on it when she finally wanted him to.

And Kate—she had enough bottled up inside her. Her mom's murder, the stress from the job, the strain of the meaningless relationships with men she didn't love (he thought, anyway). If she was feeling even half of what he was feeling, having to bottle that up, too, would have been almost impossible to live with.

No wonder Kate exploded with anger every time she was denied something she wanted. In essence, she had never really gotten what she wanted—justice, peace, love—whatever it was, she had always lived with having her dreams unfulfilled.

So if anything got in her way—no matter how tiny, or insignificant, or even if it went against logic or her safety—she responded with anger. Having to fight your nature every single day could only manifest itself in two ways—depression or anger—and Kate was not a wallower.

And what about him? He took another sip of his beer and blinked away the tears that were coming to his eyes. He had everything he wanted and was obsessed with the one thing he couldn't have—her. It was sad, really. Handsome and famous, a best selling author, father to a wonderful young lady and son to a pretty cool mom—people would give anything for what he had and all he could think about was her.

His head fell back against the cushion in resignation. What in the hell were they supposed to do now? She was alone in her apartment, angry as hell, and he was probably the last person she wanted to see. But above all this, she was in danger—and there was nothing he could do about it.

Hopefully the men Montgomery had assigned to watch over her had simply gone over to her place.

Castle went back to the kitchen, threw his empty bottle into the recycling, and grabbed two more beers from the fridge. He also grabbed a bag of chips and a banana. He went back to the couch, kicked off his shoes, and pulled a flannel blanket over him.

He was prepared for a long night of worrying.


	10. Chapter 10

_**BECKETT**_

The second she shut the door behind her, she realized what a huge mistake she had just made. But she ignored the feeling and pushed past the guards by the elevator.

"I'm going home," she grumbled. She stepped into the elevator and held up her hands to stop them from following her.

"You can take the next one. I'll see you at my place," she told them, pushing the button to close the door.

It was raining when she stepped out onto the pavement and she cussed under her breath. Perfect timing. Even nature was conspiring against her.

Fortunately, she hailed a cab quickly, and within twenty minutes, she arrived at her apartment.

The minute she stepped in though, that feeling of making a huge mistake came back. Her desire to be alone had driven her here, but this was the last place she wanted to be. All she could think about was the attack and she had barely made it through the front door. How she was going to sleep in her bedroom, she didn't know.

More sad than angry now, she closed the door and sank to the floor, her long legs stretching out toward the living room. She glanced up at the books on her staircase and wasn't surprised when thoughts of Castle began filling her up again.

All of this—_all_ of it—was because of a book. Ridiculous, she thought, until she remembered that a book had brought her and Castle together originally. She had never thought of books as powerful—entertaining and comforting, yes—but not powerful enough to alter the course of someone's history.

She had been wrong though. From her crush on Richard Castle, the author, to the real love she now felt for Rick, her partner, his books had changed her life. She had half a mind to pour herself a glass of wine and pick up a book right now, anything to escape from how awful she was starting to feel about leaving his place.

What she had felt back at his place though was outrageous—it was literally out of rage. When Captain had told her that she wasn't to come back to work until this was over, something deep inside of her just erupted. After all that had happened, all she really wanted was to go back to work as soon as possible.

She felt good at work—right. She knew her place there and how she was supposed to act and feel. At work, she never lost herself—she was anchored. Plus, she was at good her job. She had Lanie. She had Espo and Ryan and—damn, she thought of him again.

Her head dropped then. She felt the tightness in her shoulders and knew, if she was with him, he would offer to give her a backrub.

_What is so wrong with that?_

She wasn't normal. She saw that now. She had barely moved an inch in three years and Castle had practically flown across the universe to be with her. He had left nearly everything behind to become the kind of man he thought she should have. He had contorted himself, all because of her. It was no judgment on him, of course. She was the monster for allowing it to continue, for refusing to bend, even a little.

Even if her reasons for keeping them apart were still sound—her baggage, her inability to open up, her obsession with her mom's murder—she was losing the will to fight her feelings. Even before all of this had happened, she had been thinking of leaving Josh. Even if she and Castle were always going to be friends, she couldn't hurt him anymore.

* * *

An hour passed and she still had not moved from her spot. She was thirsty now though and when she moved, she realized how right Castle had been. She was hurt. She had been beaten—and badly. Sitting still had only made her aching muscles and joints stiffen up. She felt like she had been hit by a truck.

Maybe this is what she deserved.

Even though it was against every bone, every cell in her body, she wanted to go back over to his apartment. She just wanted to. Couldn't she do something she wanted for once? Could she let herself have one night free from her self-imposed exile?

Why should she care about her pride anymore? How did that even matter after all that had happened? Who cares if he saw some weakness in her? Certainly her walls could hold.

And who was she kidding anyway? While her walls were high, they were also stretched too thin. They were a mirage—hollowed and crumbling inside. He had been chipping away at them since day one. She might be keeping him at bay on the outside, but inside, he had already nestled himself in, the way he sat in his chair each morning, coffee in hand, ready to work.

Work—wow, she had really screwed up. Sure, work would be great, but she wasn't really angry at the Captain, she realized. There's no way in hell she should be on the case—he could even get fired for it.

_What was it then?_

Why had she exploded like that? What had been happening before the phone call?

And then it hit her. They had been kissing. He had been—pulling her against him, which now pulled something deep inside of her. She had been wearing his shirt. She had been prepared for things to change, if for just that one night.

And that's why she was hesitating now. It wasn't just her pride. She knew if she went back over there, it wasn't going to be just this one night. It would be many nights, then most nights, and then all nights. Choosing to be with him would be like going down a water slide. Once you did it, you couldn't go back. All you could do was hold on and have fun.

"Ahhh!" she exclaimed when finally pushing herself to her feet. God, that hurt.

She used the door to give her support as she rose to her full height. She made a mental check of everything—wallet, gun, badge—and quickly realized that everything was still in place because she had never moved once she had come home. She even had her coat on.

Taking a deep breath and centering herself as much as she could, she swung open the door and paused in the doorway, looking at both of the guards. She didn't know them. Good. That made it even easier.

"Let's go," she told them, starting down the hallway. "We're going back over to Castle's."

"Yes, ma'am," they affirmed together.

"Come on," she ordered. "You're driving."


	11. Chapter 11

Castle was still staring at the polar bear painting—vacillating between wondering why he had ever bought it in the first place and thinking it was the coolest thing ever. It always made him happy to look at it—right now though, it just made him depressed.

The half-filled bottle of his fourth beer was warm in his hand and he felt mildly drunk, enough to make him forget about her for a few seconds at least. He knew it would wear off soon though. He might have to move to harder stuff.

He knew he should turn on the TV or write or do something to distract himself, but he couldn't summon the energy. He had only gotten up once to go to the bathroom. When he had finished, he had just left his pants there on the floor, too dejected to even bother putting them back on. What did he need pants for anyway? Pants wouldn't bring her back.

He tried not to worry about her, about her being cold or hurting or hungry. He tried to imagine her warm in her bed, a cup of tea on her nightstand, maybe even reading one of his books, but then he stopped trying to imagine that because it made him mad that she would settle for his book when she could have the actual author. So now he was mad … and worried. It was a horrible combination.

Should he call her at least? It wasn't the same as going over there, which was probably too much. But a call—it showed concern, not obsession. And he really was worried about her …

But there was this small part of him that felt she should come back to him. After all, what had he really done? Sure, he had said some pretty stupid things, but nothing to warrant the veritable wrath she had unloosened upon him after talking with the Captain. He didn't order her off the case—Montgomery had.

This anger of hers—he didn't discount the depth of her anger or her reasons for feeling it, but it was unnecessary. Yes, she had been through some terrible things, but she had a partner now. However she saw him—as a friend, a partner, a lover, whatever—he was hers. She would never again walk alone. Be mad at the world, but not at him.

He let himself feel sorry for himself for a few minutes and then forced a lid on it. Feeling sorry for himself wouldn't change anything.

He tried to rally himself into doing something, but he was exhausted. He had done nothing but focus completely on her for the past six days straight—he was tired. Of course it had been work tending to her needs, but it was a labor of love. He felt raw now, like he had a really cute puppy in his house for a week and then had it cruelly taken away.

_Oh great, Castle. Now she's a puppy?_

He was such an idiot.

He looked at the painting again. Or maybe a baby polar bear? Actually, that was more like it. Baby polar bears were cute, but they would also tear your head off in a second. Yeah … that sounded more like Beckett.

And then he heard a knock.

_No way._

He jumped off the couch quickly, banging his left knee into the glass coffee table and sloshing some of the beer out of its bottle. Cursing, he set it down and walked quickly over to the front door. He remembered his lack of pants and thought he should probably go back and put them on, but his excitement to get to the door and his lowered inhibitions won out.

He had no idea what was going to happen once he opened that door, but he didn't care. He was sure that if he could just get her inside again, everything would be okay.

He put on his best smile and swung open the door.

He was still smiling when the wet cloth covered his face and a strong arm held him still. It wasn't until he had collapsed and finally gone unconscious did that happy, hopeful smile leave his face.

Alan caught Castle and pulled him back inside, his legs dragging behind him. She followed them in and shut the door the door behind her.

He deposited Castle on the couch in a decent position and then backed up, waiting for his next order.

"You can leave us," she told him pulling off a long white glove.

"Shall I wait in the car, ma'am?" he inquired politely.

"No, just leave," she dismissed him.

He nodded at her, and abruptly left.

Esther couldn't believe it. She was here! In his apartment and he was laying on the couch in front of her, looking adorable in his button down shirt and underwear. Oh his underwear! Were those kissing kittens?

She steepled her fingers in front of her, rubbed her hands together, and allowed herself a smile. This had been a very expensive project—and had caused her to cross some lines she might not normally would've crossed—but it didn't matter now because she had what she wanted—him, alone, and Detective Beckett out of the picture.

After going back to lock the door, she returned to the living room. He was lying on the back of the couch, so she sat on the part that jutted out and watched him, waiting for him to come out of his fog.

Finally, he opened his eyes.

"Hello, Richard," she smiled.

"Kate?" he asked.

Esther frowned. Not a good way to start.

She moved closer to him and put her hand on his knee.

He jerked back from her touch.

"Who are you?" he demanded, but weakly. He tried to lift his head, but couldn't. What the hell was going on? He felt sick, drugged.

"I'm Esther," she greeted him, pleasantly. "We've met before, remember. I was here, for Martha's class."

"Where is Kate?" he replied.

"Kate is not here. She left. She isn't coming back," she said, firmly.

"She's coming back," he insisted, his head rolling from side to side on the cushion.

"No, she's not," Esther disagreed. "She's never coming back. I'm going to be with you now."

"You …"

"Yes, me, Richard. You don't need her."

"Yes, I do. I need her ... I …"

"No, you don't," Esther interrupted. She moved closer to him and once again put her hand on his knee. "I'm here for you," she whispered, seductively. "I want you. I want to make love to you. I want to live here with you. I want to be in your books. I want to take care of you. I want to love you."

"Kate?" he whispered, smiling now. He reached for her hand and held it. "I love you, too."

Ugh, she wanted to slap that dopey smile off his handsome face. But then she had an idea. Her plan was to ruin him for the detective and did it really matter if he knew the difference right now?

"Castle," she said sweetly. Hell, she knew exactly what Kate sounded like. If this is what it took, she could do it.

"Thanks for coming back over," he said, so gratefully and innocently, it made Esther want to kiss him and kill him at the same time.

"I missed you," she purred into his ear, settling in closer to him. He cuddled into her happily.

"I missed you. Don't leave again. I like it when you're here," he told her, his eyes still struggling to open.

Screw this, she thought. They could talk later. Right now, they needed to do something irreversible—something permanent.

She kicked off her shoes, hiked her dress up, and moved onto his lap.

"Wow," he smiled, dreamily. His hands started lightly rubbing the tops of her thighs.

"Is this what you want?"

"Yeah," he sighed.

And then she heard the knock.

Shit. This needed to be happening way faster. And why had she sent Alan home? That was so idiotic of her. She never once thought that Kate would come back over.

More knocking. Her musings ended immediately. She needed to focus on the task at hand. There was still time.

"Kiss me, Castle," she said in a husky voice, sinking down so their faces were close.

"You don't smell like cherries," he accused. When he started to stir under her, she grabbed his jaw and sought out his lips.

"No," he resisted, covering his face with his hands.

She ignored him and started moving faster, kissing his neck and unbuttoning his shirt. She was losing time.

"Castle?" a female voice called from the other side of the door.

"Kate," he murmured.

Jesus, they were ridiculous. She needed to speed this up.

Kate knocked on the door again. And again, there was no answer.

Was he asleep? Taking a shower?

She decided to knock louder. And then louder, until she was pounding on it.

There is no way he could sleep through this. No way.

"Something's wrong," she called out to the two uniforms. They pulled their guns and approached her swiftly.

"I think we need to kick it in," she surmised. She took a step backward.

And then she felt a hand on her shoulder.

"Let me do it, Detective," a deep, warm voice said behind her. Surprised, she stepped out of the way as one of the guys moved in front of her. She hadn't noticed how big he was—or how big the other one was. They were massive. He probably wouldn't have to really try to kick down the door, whereas she probably would have broken her leg. The Captain had selected these guys for a reason and she was grateful.

"Do it!" she ordered, her eyes focused directly on the door.

And he did.

The door swung open and the first thing they saw was a beautiful, sexy blonde woman with smudged pink lipstick sitting on top of a very relaxed Castle.

It had to be a blonde, didn't it?

She sighed, gestured for the men to clear the place and walked over to the couch, her gun trained on the woman's chest.

"Are we interrupting something?" Kate asked in a mocking, but steady voice. _Shit. Did he really not have pants on?_

The woman stared at Kate with hateful daggers in her eyes. "You don't love him like I do," she accused. "You haven't even slept with him. He's better off with me."

"Castle, what the hell?" Kate interrupted. "Are you drunk?"

"No," he whimpered, finally looking at her through heavy eyelids. "Well, I was kind of drunk and then … I … she … they … put this thing on my face," Castle went to put a hand over his face to demonstrate the chloroform, but misjudged the distance and ended up hitting himself. He frowned and then closed his eyes and yawned.

"You drugged him?" Kate asked her, incredulous. "Yeah, I haven't slept with him, but I don't drug him just to get on his lap either."

The woman's eyes narrowed on her. "You're a mean and hateful person, Kate Beckett. And I would know. I've heard everything—everything you have said to each other in the past three months, and you are a damaged, broken person who will never understand how amazing he is, how much he deserves. All you do is take from him and he just gives and gives. You've turned him into mess; I'm just here to clean it up. This whole thing happened because you're a selfish, clueless woman."

_Ouch._

"We're all clear, Detective," she heard as the uniforms came back into the living room.

"Thank you," she nodded. "Can you please wait outside and give my Captain a call? I've got things in here."

"Sure thing," the door kicker-inner answered. "We'll knock when the Captain arrives."

Kate returned her gun to its sleeve and pulled the handcuffs from their holder.

"Get off of him," she ordered, moving closer to them.

"I won't," Esther refused.

"Don't make me get my gun out again. We both know this is over," Kate told her.

Esther's façade fell pretty quickly. She got off of Castle and stood up beside the couch. She pulled down her expensive dress and ran her hands over her hair, smoothing it down.

"Over here," Kate said, firmly, nodding toward the stairs. Esther didn't resist when Kate put the cuffs on her, locking her to the exposed silver railing of the steps. Esther just sat on the step in silence. She was still scheming in her head, but it was halfhearted. At least she could afford a good lawyer.

Kate walked back over to Castle and sat down beside him.

He reached for her hand and she squeezed back.

"I love you," he sighed, giving her such a huge goofy grin, she couldn't help but smile back. He was still pretty out of it and it really wasn't funny, but it still kind of was. She could probably say anything right now and he wouldn't remember …

"I love you, too, Castle," she whispered, surprising herself.

"Can we get in my bed?" he asked, her words obviously not registering.

"Hold on, cowboy!" she laughed at him. "We'll get there soon enough."

* * *

"So how exactly did she get your pants off again?" Esposito jested, chuckling along with Ryan. They had been grilling Castle for close to five minutes now.

"She didn't. I never put them back on," Castle grumbled. He felt less drugged now, but had a headache coming on.

"Why did you take them off in the first place, Castle?" Esposito pushed on.

"After the bathroom. I just didn't care," he explained.

"So, you go to the bathroom and just leave your pants on the floor? Who does that?" Ryan asked.

"And who buys boxers with kittens on them? Kittens that are kissing, Castle! Seriously, dude, who buys those? Did you have them custom made?" Esposito stuck his hand out toward Ryan, who high-fived him.

"They're old. Alexis picked them out. I haven't done laundry in a while …"

"And then overpowered by a woman who's what … five-foot-two? Beckett said she was giving you a lap dance, bro."

At hearing her name, she looked away from the Captain for a minute and glanced over at the boys by the couch. Poor Castle. This whole thing did look pretty weird.

"She wasn't giving me a lap dance. I thought she was Beckett …"

"Oh, so Beckett gives you lap dances now?" Ryan asked, raising an eyebrow toward Esposito, who was shaking his head.

"No, she doesn't … but I thought she might …"

"You thought she might start?" Esposito challenged him.

"I was drugged … come on guys, my head hurts …"

"Yeah, a teeny tiny stripper girl drugged you …" Ryan giggled.

"A crazy stripper at that," Esposito continued. "Beckett told us that she's been following you for months, listening in on your phone calls. We found a freaking recording device in your bedroom, bro!"

"I feel so violated," Castle moaned, rubbing his temples.

The boys tried to stifle their laughing.

"Can I have my pants now?" Castle asked, politely.

"No can do, bro. They're evidence …" Esposito informed him. Ryan almost fell off the chair he was in.

"Go get his pants, Espo," Beckett said, returning to the couch.

"But the kittens …" Ryan was laughing so hard now, he was crying. He was wiping tears from his eyes as they went into Castle's room. She gave them as mean a glare as she could manage while still smiling.

"Feeling better?" she asked, sitting down beside him.

"Headache," he complained, pulling the blanket more tightly around him.

"No sense in hiding from me now, Castle. I already have a favorite kitten—it's the black one," she teased him.

"Mine, too!" he said eagerly.

_Seriously?_ She couldn't help it—she laughed out loud in his face and then covered her mouth guiltily. He frowned again and dropped his head back on the cushion.

"Worst. Night. Ever," he groaned.

"Didn't turn out so bad though," she said softly, reaching for his hand. She held it tightly between them and rested her head against his shoulder. The boys came back with the pants and she gestured toward the glass coffee table. They dropped them there and continued into the kitchen to talk with the Captain. Sure, they were smirking, but they didn't say anything more, thankfully.

"You came back," he whispered.

"You sound surprised."

"I was," he admitted.

"I was wrong to leave," she told him, sighing heavily. "It was … selfish. If I had stayed, the security would have stayed. I left you exposed … alone …"

"Yeah," he agreed softly, and they both knew she meant more than just the security. "You do that a lot …"

She nodded, not proud, but he was right. "I know. I always tell you to wait … or to stay by the car."

"I never do," he reminded her.

"No, you don't …" she said, trailing off.

"Kate?" he whispered, squeezing her hand.

"We do better when we're together, don't we?" she surmised.

"Finally," he sighed, dramatically. They both laughed softly. Kate shifted and moved her face closer to his neck.

"I'm sorry … for everything …" she added, kissing him briefly behind his ear. She didn't even care who saw.

"Kate, is my house technically a crime scene?" he asked her, sounding more like himself.

"No. They'll be out of here soon. After everything, this case is pretty open and shut, I'd say. Esther—that's her name, by the way, didn't know if you caught that …"

"I can't remember," he said, shaking his head.

"She's already copped to everything. It's pretty routine now—no crime scene tape or forensic evidence processing. It's over. Why?"

"I want everybody gone. I want you alone," he said for only her to hear.

"How do you know I'm not leaving, too?" she teased him.

"Oh, that's fine. I always have Esther as an option," he countered.

"Esther, my ass," she said, grumpily, standing up.

"Listen up, everyone," she announced, walking into the center of the room. "Let's get this wrapped up … now!"


	12. Chapter 12

After everyone left, they made their way into the kitchen. He sat the counter while she stood on the other side of the island.

"I can't believe it's over," he said.

"I'm so glad," she agreed. "It's all been a bit …"

"Overwhelming?" he suggested.

"Yeah," she smiled. "That's one word for it."

Then, she dropped her eyes and took a deep breath.

"I really am sorry, Castle, for leaving, for yelling at you, for …"

"I know you're sorry. I know you were upset," he said, gently.

"Yeah, I was, but …" she trailed off.

He looked at her questioningly.

She sighed. "Yes, I was upset, but not so much about being pulled off the case."

"Okay," he hedged.

"It's just that … we had … moved forward and I just made us take a huge step back."

"It's okay," he told her.

"No, it's not," she fretted. She looked up at him again. "Can I have another chance?"

"Of course, Kate," he quickly reassured her. "Things will get back to normal soon. I'm not going anywhere."

"That's not what I mean …" she said, frowning.

"You mean … now?" he gulped, catching on.

She nodded, biting her lip.

"I … uh … shouldn't we have a beer or something?" he asked, visibly nervous now.

"Haven't you had enough for tonight?" she said, an eyebrow raised.

"I … I just want you to be sure."

"Oh, I'm sure," she told him, smiling suggestively.

His mouth went dry.

"Fine, Castle, let's have a beer so we can think it over," she laughed, turning to the fridge. She grabbed two beers out of the fridge, popped the tops off, and set one in front of him.

Castle picked his up and took a small sip. He had no idea why he was so nervous. Earlier, he had been _very_ ready to do what they were talking about right now. But now, he felt really nervous. And the way she was looking at him …

When he went to take another sip, he nearly choked when she tipped back her bottle and chugged down the entire thing in one go. When she finished, she set the bottle down firmly on the counter and stared at him.

"What about you, Castle. Are _you_ ready?" she asked him, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand.

_Dear God …_

Castle looked tentatively at his beer when she suddenly reached over and grabbed it from his hand. While he watched in utter amazement, she downed that one, too.

When she finished it, she set it down next to the other bottle and walked around the island. He turned around in his seat to face her as she came toward him.

"Impressive," he managed before she climbed on his lap, wrapped her legs around his waist, and covered his lips with her own.

"Kate," he said into her mouth, quickly shifting his weight to accommodate her body. It was a miracle he didn't fall off the chair.

This was it, he realized. No one was trying to kill her, no one was going to come in and interrupt them, nothing was going to … Fuck, what was she doing with her tongue? And her hands …

She pulled away from him then, but kept their foreheads pressed together. They were quiet, each one trying to catch their breath.

"I pronounce you ready, Detective Beckett," he joked, nervously.

"Don't talk, Castle," she scolded him.

Castle stood up quickly, swiftly reoriented her body so she landed on her feet, and backed her into the kitchen counter. Her elbows fell back on the counter as he pressed into her, pinning her against the granite counter top.

They were both slightly in awe of how the other one looked right now—both red-faced, breathing kind of heavily, looking out of darkened eyes. She liked seeing him like this—so much better than the hurt and disappointment she usually drew from him.

She watched him unbutton her shirt and push the white sleeves over her shoulders, shuddering at the sudden coolness and his expression as he contemplated the black tank top that now separated them. He looked like he could rip it off her at any second and she was thinking she really wouldn't mind if he did.

But when he lightly—really _lightly_—trailed his fingers up her sides, she stopped thinking, her head fell back, and she released a moan louder than she really wanted it to be. She was embarrassed for about half a second, until he followed his previous action by slowly sliding two thumbs under her breasts and across her rib cage.

Continuing his exploration, his fingertips slid down her body, touching her lips, her neck, her chest, her stomach …

Without preamble, his fingers went to the buttons on her jeans and she grabbed his arms, wondering where exactly he was going with this, because surely he meant to spend some more time kissing her or something. Of course, the last three years could be considered constant foreplay and one could argue that there was really no sense in waiting anymore.

But her musings ended abruptly when the buttons were undone and her jeans were tugged down. No, he was not showing any sign of stopping, especially when he shoved his hand inside her underwear. But, surely he was at least going to kiss her or something, right?—

_No, he's not_—and her knees nearly buckled when his fingers curved into her. He was gentle, but purposeful, and even though she was strongly gripping his upper arms, the rest of her started melting and sliding down and …

"God, Castle," she sighed, trying to stay focused.

"I know," he answers in a whisper, but he doesn't stop his movements, doesn't stop until she's barely standing up anymore. Was he seriously trying to make her—?

"Okay, okay!" she managed, stepping away from him. He withdrew his hand and backed up a few steps, but instead of the wounded look she expected, she found him looking rather like the Cheshire Cat.

"Shouldn't we slow down a little, Castle?" she asked breathlessly, closing her eyes and trying to calm down. She doesn't know why she said that. She doesn't mean it. Not at all. She just needs a second to feel in control again.

She opened her eyes and looked up at him and he looked so damn … cocky. That's exactly what it was. Damn him! He was grinning at her confidently and she would have smacked him if she wasn't trying so hard to pull herself together.

"Sure, Detective. Ten seconds ago you were all in a hurry, but yeah, we can slow down if you want. I mean, I waited three years, what's a few more minutes?" he said sarcastically.

"It wouldn't have worked if we had done it three years ago," she reminded him, buying more time. Jesus, were her knees actually shaking?

"You're absolutely right, but it's working now," he pointed out.

"Castle, come here," she said to him, holding out her hand.

"Can you call me Rick now?" he asked, grabbing hold of her hand and letting her lead him toward his office.

"I can try to, Castle," she teased him, looking over her shoulder.

"I have a feeling you will be calling me Rick soon enough," he replied confidently.

"Oh yeah?" she replied, as they left the office and entered his bedroom. "Why?"

He grabbed her then, spun her around, and pressed her against the bedroom door. She gasped at the sudden, aggressive move, delighted and turned on by his boldness. He placed his hands on either side of her shoulders, boxing her in, and stared at her.

"Because I'm not going to kiss you until you do," he explained.

She laughed. "I've gone a long time without kissing you, Castle. I think my resistance is pretty strong."

"Oh, we'll see …" he dismissed her, taking one hand and lightly brushing the backs of his fingers over her breast.

"Is that all you got?" she asked, her voice lower and huskier now.

He slid his knee between her legs in response.

"Uh, that's a little better, Castle …" she admitted, trying to slow down her breathing.

"Mmm hmm …" he murmured. He leaned forward and buried his face into her neck.

_Shit, she thought. Just say his damn name already!_

"Kate," he whispered into her ear, just before his lips found that one place on her neck that drove her so crazy, she actually squirmed against him. Picking up on her body language, he pressed into her until their bodies were flush and attacked the spot on her neck, even giving her a little bite for good measure.

"Jesus, Rick," she panted.

He immediately stepped back and smiled that darling, lopsided smile at her. She grinned back sheepishly.

"Now about that kiss …" he started.

She smiled at his silence as she unbuckled his belt. Words—finally—ceased to be important anymore.

The end.


End file.
